Honey
by Two four twelve
Summary: Voldemort persuades Harry to assist him in a war against unspeakable evil. Hermione gains a second father, and the Gryffindor boys discover that Animagus transformations are as hard as they sound. Meanwhile, the enigmatic, murderous Marionette Man unleashes destruction on the wizarding world. An AU fifth year.
1. Prologue

From _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_, with editing:

_Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them. "My Lord..." he choked, "my Lord... you promised... you did promise..."_

"_Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily._

"_Oh, master... thank you, master..."_

_He extended the bleeding stump. Voldemort raised his wand and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake._

"_My Lord," Wormtail whispered. "Master... it is beautiful..."_

Voldemort pointed his wand at Wormtail's turned back. There was a flash of red light, and Wormtail collapsed.

"And now, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, "to business. I need you to join me." And he stepped forward and removed the gag from Harry's mouth.

Harry would have spat, but the gag had dried his mouth out. "I'd sooner die. You killed my parents."

Voldemort nodded. "Yes. Of course I did. They were warriors, soldiers on the enemy side. I am truly, deeply sorry for their deaths and your loss, but in a war, one cannot help but take lives."

"Liar!" Harry shouted. "Mum wasn't a fighter! She ran when you attacked – Dad tried to hold you off-"

"Who told you that?" Voldemort asked. "My own memory of the night is fuzzy; it turns out dying is rather inimical to long-term memory formation."

"I remember. Whenever I get near Dementors, they – they..."

"Dementors," Voldemort said. "I see. Those foul creatures that dredge up one's worst memories. Tell me, Harry, if you were an evil demon trying to spread misery as far and wide as you could, would you restrict yourself to real memories? Would you distort existing ones to make them even worse? Or would you invent new memories altogether?"

"I..." Harry thought for a moment. "If someone really had awful memories – and I do! - I'd use those. Why would a Dementor plant false memories, even if they could, if they could just use someone's memory of when their parents died?"

"Because your parents, Harry, died with their wands in their hands. They were brave warriors, and I salute them both. The real events of that night would be, for you, sad, because your parents died, but they would inspire hope and pride, not fear and misery. I don't remember every detail, but I do remember some of it... fighting from room to room in your house against both... your father distracted me, while your mother set off traps. She brought half the house down on me, until I finally cornered your father... then she kept fighting... no, that wouldn't be anywhere near your unhappiest memory.

"A second possible reason is that you don't have that memory at all. Do you remember anything else from before the age of, say, five?"

Harry thought. "I think... I had a toy taken off me by my cousin... it was a tank?"

"Hardly very clear memories," Voldemort observed. "And yet you think that, years before even then, you could remember entire conversations? I should mention that I had a Silencing Jinx held over your house, so you literally couldn't have heard anything anyway."

"You're lying," Harry said again.

Voldemort tilted his head to one side like a bird. "Why do you think that? Do you suppose I wouldn't cut off communications when attacking a group, or incantations when I can cast silently? Just because I am a quote-unquote Dark Lord doesn't mean every word from my mouth is a lie. There's no use telling an obvious lie; you'll pick it up easily."

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter whether my parents died fighting or not," he said. "The point is that you murdered them."

"Like how you murdered Professor Quirrel?"

Harry stared. "That's nothing like the same! You had _possessed_ him and were egging him on to kill me, in case you've forgotten!"

"I had, actually," Voldemort said, tapping his wand against his lips. "There's a reason it took me ten years to try that: I knew it was a bad idea. Sharing a body corrupts one's soul. I can barely remember half that year. I do apologise for trying to kill you then; I quite literally wasn't in my right mind."

"Oh, well that's alright then," Harry said sarcastically.

"But we agree it was fine to kill someone in self-defence? Would you also have felt justified in killing him if he had been threatening someone else you cared about? Say, Miss Granger?"

Harry felt cold. Wormtail had told Voldemort everything. He knew exactly whom to threaten. And he'd do it, too.

"Because that's the situation as it was with your parents," Voldemort went on. "They were members of a secret organisation dedicated to opposing me. In previous battles, they incapacitated, captured or killed many of my Death Eaters. If I hadn't attacked them, it would have been a reasonable conclusion that they would have continued to do so. I was protecting my friends and followers, when I attacked them, just as surely as you protected your friend Hermione Granger when you attacked that troll three and a half years ago, or that time with the basilisk."

"You can't possibly pretend those are the same at all," Harry said.

"Do you enjoy killing things, Harry Potter? I don't. But sometimes it's the only way to protect others. Again, I am truly sorry for the losses my actions have caused. The only reason, the only thing that could possibly have made me undertake those evil actions, was the knowledge that inaction would be even worse."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"I didn't wake up one morning and say to myself, 'I know! I'll spend the rest of my life destroying the world!' I began my campaign because this world is rotten to its core, and no-one else was willing to step forward to fight it."

"Muggle-borns," Harry said. "You hate them. You're wrong. They're just as good as purebloods. They're better! Hermione's the best witch of her generation!"

"Yes," Voldemort said simply. "She is, single-handedly, clear-cut proof that blood purism is wrong. This is obvious. No-one remotely intelligent could possibly mistake it. Your mother, too, also Muggle-born, was quite brilliant; I was distraught when she declined my invitation to my ranks. Of course, I myself am only a half-blood."

Harry stared. "What? But – but if you know blood purism is wrong, why-?"

"Power," Voldemort said. "Power and politics. I'm not surprised this hasn't occurred to you; it takes a long time to get into the hang of thinking of things this way. I needed money and supporters to achieve my ends; power, in short. I was a poor boy when I graduated Hogwarts; I had no money of my own, no family to support me, and as a half-blood orphan, no chance of marrying into wealth.

"So I lied. I told the blood purists, the Malfoys and the Lestranges and the Blacks, that I would be their saviour from their own invented bogeyman, Muggle-borns. And it worked. I found myself a ready-made army, with which to topple the Ministry and rebuild it, in the name of peace, justice and equality. I was winning the war. Until you."

"But hang on," Harry said. "If you only attacked my parents because they were your enemies, why did you then try to kill me?"

"That's a fine question," Voldemort said. "And I'm curious, what did Dumbledore tell you? I assume you've asked him at some point."

Harry tried to remember Dumbledore's words. He couldn't, not verbatim, just that Dumbledore had hedged and refused to answer.

"I see," Voldemort said anyway. "He said you weren't ready to hear it? The truth is that he wasn't ready to say it. I don't know what he planned to tell you – the truth would have been quite reasonable to tell a near-twelve-year-old, don't you think? - but it was clearly a lie. He needed the time to think one up and falsify evidence to prove it when you checked. Don't you think it odd I went, in person, alone? When I had armies of followers I could have sent? What sort of general goes into battle alone to fight anyone but the opposing general? The truth is that your parents were great warriors, and I refused to risk my people's lives.

"But since you ask, I didn't try to kill you. I didn't think you were there in the house at all. After I killed your father, your mother fell back into your nursery. I suppose she realised she had no hope of defeating me, and merely hoped to take you and flee. I followed her and threw a volley of curses. One hit and killed her; a split second later, another hit you. You were already protected by her sacrifice, so it rebounded, and the rest is history."

"That's..." Harry said, his mind awhirl. He still didn't believe Voldemort, but it was getting hard to point out specific holes in his story.

"Indeed. As a Slytherin, I am ambitious; I wish to unmake the world, and replace it with something better. A utopia. This brings us to Dumbledore, who was an enemy from the start, even before I graduated. He already had an unassailable reputation as Light Wizard; this left me with no option but to become a Dark Lord and take what allies that image offered."

"You had a choice," Harry said. "You chose to make war. You could have had peace..."

"I could have allowed peace," Voldemort corrected. "I would never have had it myself. Remember how I was a poor man? The Ministry is dead set on oppressing the lower classes. I would have been arrested on trumped-up charges sooner or later. In fact, that very nearly happened, on my eighteenth birthday.

"And this brings us to you. I wish that you join me. Together, we can change this world. We can bring hope and peace and justice. We can make Dumbledore and the Ministry pay for their crimes. We can usher in a new Golden Age."

"Or, I could refuse, because you're lying," Harry said.

"Yes, but then I'd kill you," Voldemort said. "I'm not about to let you go and tell everyone that I'm back. I don't like killing, but if the alternative is failure and the Ministry continues to accrue crimes against humanity, it's the lesser of two evils."

"You just don't get it, Voldemort," Harry said. "You can't intimidate me, because I really would die for my friends. That's what love means, and that's why you'll never win."

"I don't get that?" Voldemort asked. "_Au contraire_, Harry, I understand what self-sacrifice means as well as you do. It means that rather than risk your own friends and followers, you go on ahead, even when outnumbered."

"Then why are you even bothering?" Harry asked. "Even if you don't really believe in blood purism, your Death Eaters do, and if they had half a chance they'd torture and kill any of my Muggle-born friends. I'm not going to help you if you're going to be leading them!"

"Hmm. So, to be quite clear here, you believe that if you help me, this is liable to lead to a bad outcome for your Muggle-born friends – say, Miss Granger – and this is the deal-breaker?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So if I were to demonstrate to you the reverse – that helping me would in fact reduce the probability of a bad outcome for Hermione – you would then wish to join me?"

"Er-"

"When the facts change, I change my mind," Voldemort said, with the air of a quote. "What do you do, sir?"

"Well," Harry said, "if I believed you, which I wouldn't because you're a liar, then I'd be willing to work with you, as long as so doing helped protect her and didn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, but I wouldn't do anything for you aside from that."

"Of course not," Voldemort said, "and nor would I expect you to. Then I suppose it's high time I told you that if I were to cease to exist, if my campaign suddenly ended, Hermione Granger would die on her eighteenth birthday."

"You're lying."

"You wax repetitive," Voldemort said. "I understand you've spent some time wandering around Diagon Alley; you have a fair idea of what sort of people become successful in Wizarding Britain. You've seen apothecaries, book stores, pubs... you know of a few teachers, politicians, civil servants, authors... what do they all have in common?"

Harry stared. "Where are you going with this?"

"They're all pureblood," Voldemort went on. "Wormtail has kept me apprised. Out of every shopkeeper he's seen in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, every single one has been either a pureblood or a half-blood with a respectable magical parent. Oh, with one exception: Florean Fortescue, the ice-cream man. Your teachers are all blooded, even the Muggle Studies teacher, and the Ministry doesn't a have one single Muggle-born ranking higher than janitor. Why do you suppose this is?"

"Why don't you tell me, since you're obviously going to anyway?"

"You're being very hostile and uncooperative," Voldemort said.

"You murdered my friend ten minutes ago, tied me to this headstone, and used my blood to resurrect yourself. This, after trying to kill me and my friends and family for years."

"That doesn't excuse poor manners," Voldemort said.

"Yes, it does."

Voldemort accepted this. "Well. There exist certain potions and rituals of great power but come at great cost. I suppose you've heard of the Triangle Rule of Potions? A potion's effect is bounded by those of its components? Or, more prosaically, you only get out what you put in. So what if someone wanted a potion for a power-enhancing ritual? By the Rule, this is only possible if one uses an ingredient with its own power. And it needs to be human-usable power. That is, these rituals require human sacrifice."

"You would know about this," Harry said.

"Yes, but I didn't invent the idea. Dumbledore did."

"... You almost had me going for a moment there," Harry said. "Saying there are no Muggle-born shopkeepers, that the Ministry keeps them down, that I could just about believe, if only because I could check it myself, but to say that Dumbledore used human sacrifice..."

"Remember the triangle rule?" Voldemort said. "Remember alchemy, the forerunner to the science of potioneering? Remember the Philosopher's Stone? It gave eternal life. How could it do that? How would it have life to give, unless it had a live ingredient?"

Harry gaped. "That's... no, there has to be some way around that. You can provide magic by stirring the right way. You could use animals. You could-"

"That might work, but it could only give an animal level of life. To have magic like wizards use, you need a witch or wizard. You're right, Harry Potter, I would know. I've done the maths on this. I'll show you my notes sometime, if you're interested."

"No. Dumbledore would never do that."

"Mm? Well, here's another tidbit. Since you've been training for this Task, you're probably the best duellist of your year. How many of your classmates do you think you could take at once? One, easily; two, maybe, if you were lucky and they didn't think to try to flank you; three, not a chance. Magic power has some natural variance, so some people are naturally stronger than others, and this can be improved by hard work or good luck; but it's very, very rare for anyone to be even twice as good as a contemporary, Squibs notwithstanding. Dumbledore, though, he I have seen take on half a dozen of my Death Eaters – hardened fighters, trained in group tactics, against a schoolmaster – and win. How could this be? No-one is that strong. No-one, that is, who hasn't cannibalised the magic of his own former students."

"No, I refuse to believe that," Harry said. "That's sick, twisted, and ridiculous. No."

"I know you don't want to believe. I certainly didn't when I first worked it out. But the thing is that if you don't, Hermione will die. Why would they offer tuition to someone who's not going to make anything of herself anyway? They're fattening her up to eat her, Harry. They're training her to be stronger, until she reaches her peak at age eighteen, when they'll use her in a ritual to make Dumbledore still stronger or extend his already unnaturally long lifespan, or maybe some other person at the crown of society. They've been doing this for years, centuries, and they'll keep on doing it unless I stop them."

Voldemort snapped his fingers, and the ropes binding Harry winked out of existence. He fell to his knees.

"When I turned eighteen, Aurors came to capture me," Voldemort said. "I would have been killed, slowly, horribly, just as Hermione will be. She has only one chance. Join me, and together we will make them pay, we will stop this barbaric practice, and we will do it in time to save her. Or you can refuse, and maybe I'll fail, and she'll die."

Harry fought for air. He felt like he was drowning again. "But your side isn't any better. Your Death Eaters would kill her for being a Muggle-born."

"Then how about a deal?" Voldemort asked. "You join me in my war against corruption. In return, I will forge documents proving that she is actually a pureblood."

"How on Earth would you do that? Her parents are obviously Muggles."

"Leave that to me," Voldemort said. "I will persuade my Death Eaters that she is not to be harmed."

"How do I know you're not lying?" Harry asked.

"Because you know I'm not a moron," Voldemort said sleekly. "You're going to tell her about all this sooner or later. She'll see the truth of my words and the nobility of my cause just as you have. If nothing else, she'll side with you out of loyalty. Meaning, she'll side with me. And only a moron would needlessly sacrifice someone like her. She sounds like a firebrand."

"What about Ron Weasley?" Harry asked. "Do you think he'll join you too?"

"That's harder to predict. He's loyal to you, but also to his family, and they're staunchly in Dumbledore's camp. It could go either way."

"You can't tell me the Weasleys support human sacrifice."

"That's true," Voldemort agreed. "Just as I manipulated purists to my cause, so Dumbledore has manipulated Light families to his. They do honestly believe that I'm Dark and evil. If you can think of a way to correct their misconception, I'd be much obliged to hear it."

"So let me get this straight," Harry said. "You want me to support you, in some way you haven't yet said, and in return, you'll do everything you can to protect Hermione from the Ministry and your own forces."

"Correct. And you know I won't renege, because I'd much rather have you and Miss Granger as allies than enemies."

"I won't help you kill anyone else," Harry said.

"I didn't imagine you would," Voldemort said. "And again, not a moron. If I told you to do something you'd find morally repugnant, you'd refuse and snap straight back over to Dumbledore's side. So I will never ask you to do anything I don't believe you feel comfortable with."

Harry bit his lip. Voldemort had been unusually reasonable for a Dark Lord, but he was still untrustworthy and could probably lie by omission or otherwise.

"Dumbledore told you I was a liar," Voldemort said, "and I know this sounds self-serving but you should forget that. He said it specifically so you would discard literally anything I said; so that no matter how much blood he has on his hands, you would never blame him for it."

"You're right," Harry said. "That does sound self-serving."

"True. Let me give you something for free then. Never look directly into his, my, or Snape's eyes. We're all mind-readers."

"What!"

"You know his piercing blue gaze, or Snape's oppressive black eyes? Mind reading. The technical term is Legilimency. I've read your memories a few times today, and I've seen him reading you."

Harry found it oddly comforting to know that Voldemort was at least being up front about it.

"I'll give you more for free. There's an art to defending against Legilimency, known as Occlumency. I have, or will have soon, access to manuals on this art. I can teach you that. If you want, I can even teach you to return fire, although to be fair I should warn that we three are all Occlumens as well and will be able to defend ourselves."

"Ah, I have it," Harry said. "You promised to spare Hermione, but not any other Muggle-borns."

Voldemort shrugged. "That's because I didn't think you cared. I don't believe their subjugation is just or in any sense good for society. If I do win, and my Death Eaters take over Britain, they'll then want to kill them all. When that happens, I shall set up a Department of Muggle-born Cleansing. You may head it, if you wish. And you'll spend ten years, writing pure fiction about dwindling numbers, and then declare the Muggle-born menace eradicated for good."

"And when people see that Muggles keep having magical children?"

"What do you mean? You will have eradicated that over the past ten years. No, those must be long-lost Squibs. And Squibs' children have the same magical blood as anyone; their children are as precious as purebloods'."

Harry stared.

"If nothing else, I'll be the invincible Lord Voldemort, Ruler of Britain. If I say the Muggle-borns are to be unharmed, who will argue?"

"Wouldn't your Death Eaters leave you?" Harry asked.

"By that point, it will be too late. I'll expose Dumbledore's crimes, and the Light will flock to me. With them and the loyalist Death Eaters, we shall still be unbeatable."

"So, you promise not to hurt, or allow harm to come to, any Muggle-borns or other innocents," Harry said, trying to word it carefully.

"I wish to destroy the corruption at the heart of our society," Voldemort said. "I do not wish to harm anyone at all, except insofar as such harm is necessary to achieving this goal. If you agree to cooperate, I explicitly promise not to harm Hermione Granger unless she deliberately interferes with my goals; likewise I shall promise not to harm anyone else you name unless they deliberately align themselves against me. Even then, I promise to do my utmost to incapacitate and capture without killing."

Harry frowned. It _seemed_ airtight, but still... on the other hand, it wouldn't help matters if Voldemort killed him now.

"Alright," Harry said. "It's a deal." He offered his hand. Voldemort shook it; agony lanced into his scar. "Ow, son of a-!"

"Your scar hurts when I touch you, does it?" Voldemort asked. "That's odd. Maybe... oh, that is interesting. I had hoped something like this might happen. Can you hear this?"

"Hear what?" Harry asked.

"Me talking. I'm not moving my lips. This is telepathic. Go on, try it."

"Like this?"

"Yes, I hear you. You have a scar from me, and I blood from you. Apparently this constitutes a two-way link. I shall have to consider the implications in detail. For now, though, do you feel pain when I do this?"

He touched his finger to Harry's hand. Harry felt alternating waves of hot and cold spread from his scar and the point of contact, but they gradually dulled to tingles.

"No," Harry said aloud, which he found more natural than the telepathic link. "Can you hear all my thoughts?"

"I imagine you can hear the same things I can. I can only hear those thoughts you deliberately raise to the surface of your mind with the intention of me hearing them. Intent matters. As for the pain, I'm maintaining an Occlumency veil; apparently this can block whatever it is that causes you pain. I shall, of course, do this whenever possible.

"Now we need to plan ahead. I must summon my Death Eaters to alert them to my revival and give orders. When they arrive, we shall tell them that you are now on our side and will betray Dumbledore for us."

"So, tell them the truth, except the bits they won't like," Harry said.

"It's a good general policy. I had planned for two possibilities; either you would join me or not. If you did, I had planned to send you back with the Triwizard Cup, and keep my return secret, allowing me time to rebuild my forces. If you did not, I planned to inject you with a lethal dose of Acromantula venom and send you back moments before you died, making it look like the one inside the maze killed you, accomplishing the same end."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Be fair," Voldemort said, "I didn't know if you would insist on being my enemy. As you very nearly did. However, there is now a rather glaring problem." He indicated Cedric's body.

"I can't believe I forgot about him," Harry said. "Why did you make Wormtail kill him?"

"Because Wormtail is useless," Voldemort said. "He isn't anywhere near skilled enough to duel you and Cedric at the same time. He had to take one of you out of the fight, quickly and reliably, and unfortunately the Killing Curse is the only way."

"Oh, yeah? What about Stunners?"

"Those can be blocked. Any spell can be, except the Killing and Cruciatus Curses. And if he'd done the latter, you would have Stunned him. And then Hermione dies."

Harry frowned.

"Now I have a body on my hands, and worse, one which was obviously killed by that curse. Even if I tamper with the body, the cause of death will be obvious to any coroner. So this leaves us with a few undesirable options.

"One: we dispose of the body here. This would lead to a manhunt, and more investigation than I want."

"We're not leaving his body here," Harry said.

"I do not enjoy disrespecting the dead either," Voldemort agreed. "Two: you take him back and blame it on someone else. A stray curse Krum fired at a monster, perhaps."

"He'd go to Azkaban," Harry said. "No."

"Three: you take him back and blame it on me."

"Didn't you want to stay secret?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but plans must remain fluid. He must be found, and you will be asked who killed him. If you do not answer, there will be an investigation. You will tell the truth, but you will also feign hysterics and fatigue. Dumbledore will see the truth of the matter; this is unavoidable. The wizarding public, though, need not. You will tell the truth unconvincingly, as though doubting your own memory, and Minister Fudge will not believe you. If you are asked to repeat it, you will change minor details. After a few repeats, you will say you don't remember, that you were tired, that you don't know. People will doubt; you will let them."

"You want me to lie," Harry summarised.

"How many lies is Hermione's skin worth to you?" Voldemort asked.

"... What if Fudge believes that you're back?" Harry asked. "I mean, won't Dumbledore try to persuade him?"

"He will try," Voldemort said indifferently. "He will fail. Fudge is a small man, ruled by petty fears; he believes what he wants to be true. Even if he doesn't, Lucius Malfoy owns Fudge, and I own Malfoy. The Prophet won't print anything I don't want."

"Wait, you can control the Prophet?" Harry asked. "Can you do something about Rita Skeeter?"

"The journalist?" Voldemort asked. "Do something as in have her disappear in the night, or as in-?"

"I meant, as in revoke her journalist licence or – or whatever it is journalists have," Harry said lamely. "She keeps slandering me."

Voldemort shrugged. "I can have her fired within a few days if you want. But if you just don't want her writing about you or your friends, I'd much rather she keep her job; I can find use for popular journalists. I'll simply have her reassigned. Also, it's called libel when it's in print."

"That's good enough for me," Harry said.

"Then I must summon my Death Eaters."

"One last thing," Harry said. "What about Wormtail?"

"I shall modify his memory so that he doesn't remember being Stunned or waking up," Voldemort said.

"No," Harry said, "I mean that even if you have these noble goals, he doesn't. He still betrayed my parents. He just killed Cedric! He should go to Azkaban for that."

"True," Voldemort said. "I can't really stand betrayers, especially not if they betray anyone as noble as your parents. But he is useful, and justice is a lower priority than ensuring the downfall of the Ministry and preventing those rituals. How about this: after we succeed, I shall have him tried in a fair court. I don't know whether betraying your parents would be found illegal-"

"What," Harry said flatly.

"- but murdering twelve Muggles was, as is being an unregistered Animagus, murdering Cedric Diggory, perverting the coure of justice... with your testimony, you'll be able to have him convicted."

"I don't like him walking around free," Harry said. "Sirius Black, who is my godfather, is on the run because of him."

"And Sirius is my enemy," Voldemort said, stroking his chin with his long, spidery fingers. "I could have his case reopened and have him acquitted. Wormtail shall be blamed for everything and pronounced dead; the story shall be that he tried to curse Sirius and his wand misfired, killing him and the Muggles. Sirius shall be free and Wormtail's Animagus form shall remain secret, at least from the general public."

"That's... good enough," Harry said. "For now."

"It's less than ideal for me and my cause, though," Voldemort said. "It will help Sirius, who will then be in a better position to hinder me."

"He's innocent," Harry argued. "You can't keep him on the run."

"I believe you mean I shouldn't," Voldemort corrected. "I can and I will, if the alternative is more risk of failure. Let's make a deal. I'll have him exonerated. In return, you will spend part of the summer with him."

"Sounds good," Harry said.

"I am... uncertain, due to legal wrangling, but I expect he was designated the heir to at least one Black property. If so, he is likely hiding there under Fidelius, beyond my reach. The Black properties were, last I checked, stockpiled with Dark artefacts. He will likely destroy most of them. Your mission will be to recover as many as you can."

"You want me, Harry Potter, to give you, Lord Voldemort, weapons."

"Yes. For the price of your godfather's freedom, and if he is caught, his soul."

Harry could never refuse that. "I'll do it."

Voldemort smiled. It was ghastly to watch.


	2. Undemented

Harry Potter had had many awful summers throughout his life. Those from before he attended Hogwarts don't bear repeating. The one between first and second years began horribly, as he spent most of it imprisoned in his room with no mail because a mad House-elf decided to steal it. The next had featured his odious aunt's sister-in-law, and while he spent the rest of the holiday with other witches and wizards, she was horrible enough to make it a net negative. The last summer had been a huge improvement: the Dursleys had decided to ignore him and hope for the best.

Their living room was destroyed and their son was cursed, again, at the end of Harry's stay that year, but, either despite or because of this, they had decided to continue to pretend Harry didn't exist for the summer leading up to his fifth year at Hogwarts. This was its most notable improvement over previous years, but there were also many shortcomings. His best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, had barely written him, giving evasive and partly blacked-out letters. His owl, Hedwig, had caught an infection and was bed-ridden, reduced to feebly hooting for owl treats while Harry nursed her back to health. And he had the intermittent voice of the Dark Lord Voldemort in his head.

Voldemort at least chose not to abuse his mental link and kept mostly quiet when Harry asked, but even his politeness had begun to grate on Harry's nerves. He almost would have preferred the raving psychopath to this new, aggressively reasonable Voldemort.

He had also hidden a cache of books several blocks away, covered in Muggle-repelling wards, which Harry lost no time in retrieving and reading through. The main focus was Occlumency, the discipline to shield one's mind from invaders, which Voldemort insisted Harry learn to defend against his Headmaster. Unfortunately, Voldemort wasn't the best tutor alive; he tended to assume other people knew everything he did.

_What's a hippocampus?_ Harry thought at Voldemort, flipping through glossaries and the preceding chapters. He was reading through _An Introduction to Differential Psionic Permissivity_, which turned out to be every bit as difficult as it sounded.

_Part of the brain,_ Voldemort replied promptly. _Responsible for regulating the magical processes associated with vectored, atemporal, and nonconservational magics._

… _What?_

_Don't they teach the Cyralian classification schema any more? Honestly, Dumbledore, I expected better of you._

_That's great, but I can't learn Occlumency if it's founded on a whole lot of theory no-one but you knows,_ Harry thought with frustration. _Don't you have a textbook which a fifth-year might have a chance of understanding?_

_No. Occlumency isn't like Transfiguration. You can't just learn it without doing any real work._

Harry grumbled at this. Voldemort, who was unquestionably brilliant, had barely spent an hour a week on Transfiguration homework at school, and wound up with Outstanding N.E.W.T.s and a special commendation. For everyone else, it was the hardest core subject offered, except possibly for Potions, which Snape deliberately made unreasonably difficult, and History of Magic, which was so boring even the Ravenclaws reportedly slept through two lessons in three.

_Maybe there's an easier book in the Hogwarts library?_ Harry suggested.

_Hah! As if Dumbledore would let any of his students get the counter to Legilimency._

Harry pushed the book aside in disgust. _I'm getting nowhere. I might as well get started on my actual homework. What do you know about the giant wars?_

_That they were so bitter afterwards all I had to do was suggest they might kill wizards and they flocked to my banner in droves. I couldn't understand it. I mean, my side was all about killing giants, along with Mudbloods and pretty much everything but the purebloods. And even some of them. You'd think surely they would have realised things would be worse under pureblood tyranny, but no._

_Are you going to recruit them again, this time?_ Harry asked.

_I'll try. But it might not go the same way as in the First War. For one thing, Dumbledore will have people trying to win them over, or, failing that, kill them pre-emptively. For another, they did lose out after I died. And for a third, they're really, really stupid. I would never trust them to behave consistently._

Harry took out a roll of parchment. _So do you know anything about their internal war of 1951-55?_

_Harry, I'm a Dark Lord. I'm plotting to subvert the Ministry of Magic. My mortal enemy is protected by the sacrifices of dozens if not hundreds of quote-unquote virgin witches. I'm busy researching a ritual written in blood a book bound in human skin. And you want me to write your History of Magic essay for you?_

_Not write it for me!_ Harry protested. _Just give me some pointers. Voldemort! Voldemort?_

Voldemort's own mastery of Occlumency allowed him to shut their connection down cold at will. Harry sighed and reached for his textbook, but before he could, an owl landed on his window sill.

It was huge, tawny and had an insufferable bearing. Looking down its beak at him, it presented a letter with the Ministry seal. Harry accepted and read it; the owl hooted loftily and took off.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It is with greatest pleasure that I write to invite you to the Ministry of Magic's upcoming High Gala, graciously hosted by Greengrass Manor. This is a night of fun and networking offered by invitation only to respected, established witches and wizards, or the most promising up-and-coming members of magical society._

_The Gala represents an excellent opportunity for your future career, especially should you choose to pursue one with the Ministry, and I urge you to attend if at all possible. Entry is free, although tables may be reserved for a 1,000 Galleon amenity, and donations at the door are welcome. All proceeds go to the Lucius Malfoy Wing at Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._

_Please RSVP by the 10th of August at 6:59 p.m. for a 7 p.m. sharp start. Formal wear is expected. Partners are allowed._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dolores Jane Umbridge_

_Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic_

Harry re-read it twice, then reached for his parchment and quill.

_Dear Hermione and Ron,_

_I've just gotten a letter from the Ministry inviting me to a "High Gala". It sounds like one of Malfoy's schmoozing parties, but he must have had some reason to invite me. Is this a trap? Should I go and find out what it's about anyway? And do you know anything about the Greengrasses (the name sounds familiar...)? They're hosting._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

Hedwig withdrew her head from under her wing and gave a look of resignation.

"So, girl," Harry said coaxingly, "I'll bet you need to stretch your wings after resting for so long?"

Hedwig gave a bark of disgust.

"Good girl," Harry said, and tied his missive to her leg. She chirped again and flew off.

_Voldemort? Are you there? See, this is why you shouldn't ignore me. I have something important I need to ask you, and you're not listening. _

There came a sound like a snake being trodden on. _Yes, Potter, I can hear everything you think at me._

_Really? I thought you blocked it off._

_I did. For five minutes. I figured you would get to work on your essay without me in that time. Don't tell me you can't write for five minutes._

_You were much more accommodating at the graveyard,_ Harry thought crossly.

_That was before I had a fifteen-year-old nagging me for months to do homework which was beneath me when I first had to do it, fifty-five years ago. What do you want now?_

_What do you know about the Ministry's High Gala? I assume it was Lucius' suggestion, on your orders._

_That was actually Fudge's,_ Voldemort said. _He occasionally likes to use tax money to throw himself parties, where he can give self-aggrandising speeches to political donors._

_I can't work out which of us hates him more,_ Harry said. _I thought I did, because he arrested Hagrid for no reason, and is in Malfoy's pocket, and he's evil._

_Tut tut, Harry. You're on Lucius' side too now, you know._

_Shut up, Voldemort._

_Might I remind you that Fudge is the buffoon who allows the wholesale slaughter of Muggle-borns and the otherwise unconnected? People like me, when I was your age?_

_Point,_ Harry conceded. _So why am I invited? I thought we agreed I would still act hostile toward Malfoy in public to avoid suspicion._

_Probably because you're the Boy Who Lived,_ Voldemort said. _You know, who killed me. Also you won the Triwizard Tournament … but mostly because you killed me._

_You sound bitter._

_Don't worry. Revenge is a sucker's game. I see no reason to avoid the Gala. Unless you think spending an entire evening with people like Dolores Umbridge would be more than you can bear. I wouldn't blame you. Even Lucius cannot stand the woman._

Harry thought about this. Either there was no trap, or there was but Voldemort didn't know about it, or Voldemort was the one who'd laid it. _Do you think I should go?_

Voldemort had a dry serpentine laugh which sounded something like air hissing out of a punctured balloon. _It's an introduction to high society. You're only young once. Live it up while you can. Unless, of course, you'd rather spend the night getting ahead on your History of Magic essay, or bonding with your aunt._

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Harry said aloud, realising in that moment that he'd choose to go even if he had to spend it talking with Snape and Malfoy. _Speaking of which, Snape isn't going to be there, is he?_

_Hardly. He hasn't socialised to my knowledge since he was blacklisted from his favourite karaoke bar sixteen years ago._

…

_Yes. It was, truly, an unforgettable experience. One never to be repeated. It was beyond mortal comprehension._

_Yeah, let's never speak of that again,_ Harry thought.

Hedwig swooped back in through the window. Harry was relieved to see she really was looking better, and she had a reply in her beak.

_Dear Harry,_

_The Ministry is refusing to believe You-Know-Who is back. I can't believe He'd be stupid enough to attack you in full view of the Minister himself and give away that advantage. Maybe Fudge just wants the publicity? I'm supposed to be in bed now; I'll ask Lupin in the morning._

_The Greengrasses are another pureblood family. You'd recognise them from Daphne's name. She's a stuck-up snob but I've never heard of anyone from the family being Death Eaters. Again, give me time to check that. It sounds as though everyone there but you will be Slytherins, so if you do go (and don't promise anything until I get back to you!) be careful._

_Mrs. Weasley says it'll be okay for you to come and stay with us soon. I'm looking forward to it!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

.. ... ...

Lupin's letter came the next morning after breakfast. It was carried by Pigwidgeon, who came in through Harry's open window, zoomed around in a wide circle, and slammed headfirst into the raised window pane. He moved the undersized owl onto his bed to revive while he read Lupin's response.

_Harry,_

_Our sources indicate this Gala is the brainchild of either Fudge or Malfoy; both wish to silence you. In addition to that, the hosts are the Greengrasses, who have never been aligned with the Light, and almost everyone invited is their ally. There's no way Dumbledore would allow you out of the protection of your aunt's blood ward to venture into the snake's pit. Refuse to go._

_Yours,_

_Remus_

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, a headache already forming. Feeble though his declaration of Voldemort's return had been, Fudge still wanted to discredit him. However, Malfoy would ultimately be the one calling the shots, and if he answered to Voldemort, Harry should be safe. It was anyone's guess what the Greengrasses had in mind, but surely they wouldn't defy Malfoy. That Umbridge woman surely couldn't be all that bad. And as for Dumbledore and the blood wards, Harry wasn't sure he trusted the first and knew for a fact the second was useless, now that Voldemort had his blood anyway.

_Hey, Voldemort?_

_Callers always come when you're eating, don't they._

_Ha. Also, ha. Do you know how the Greengrasses are aligned?_

_Hardcore neutral. Have you ever tried to persuade a clan of land owners to do anything which might interfere with their farming? It's like herding cats. And they choose to believe that EVERYTHING interferes with farming, no matter how trivially. I once asked Cincinnatus Greengrass to let a wounded Death Eater spend the night in a haystack for gold. He refused, saying she might BLEED on his prize Pegasus' STOOL. I ask you._

_Didn't need to know that, Voldemort._

_You're welcome._

Harry crumpled the letter into his pocket, packed his rucksack with gold, his old dress robes, and his wand, and headed out. He'd grown a few inches since last year and needed the hems taken out.

He didn't bother saying goodbye to the Dursleys, just quietly shut the door behind him. It was a bright, burningly hot day, as the entire summer had been; for the first time in weeks, storm clouds massed on the very horizon, promising needed rain. Petunia had been beside herself with her flower beds dying. The neighbours on the left obeyed the water restrictions to the letter, the ones on the right not at all, so she felt justified in setting her sprinklers only half the time.

"Going somewhere, Harry?"

He looked back. It was a little girl, maybe six years old, trying to play cat's cradle; her fingers were thoroughly trussed up. She was dressed in an army camouflage shirt which came down to her knees, thongs, stockings, and a tricorne. She had a lurid blue purse over one shoulder. Harry dived behind a row of bushes and rifled through his bag for his wand for about a minute, then rolled to his feet with it trained on the girl.

"Seriously?" she asked. "You keep your wand in your _backpack_ under a pile of loose change and your dress robes? Maybe you should stick it in eight layers of wrapping paper, too. And put it away; you don't want the Muggles to see it."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, turning red but pocketing his wand.

"Rosie Lalor, your friendly neighbourhood schoolgirl," she said, bowing. Her fingers were still stuck together, and she fell on her face. "Ow. I hate swapping bodies. Would you give me a hand with this?"

She kept fidgeting, but after a minute Harry got the string off her fingers. "Right. So who are you really and why are you watching me?"

"I'd rather not say in public. Someone might be watching."

"You're under Polyjuice Potion, then," Harry said.

"Something like that. But I'm on your side. I'm here as a guard."

"You didn't think that maybe it might be a good idea to tell me I had a guard in advance?"

Rosie shrugged. "You never asked. And Dumbledore thought you might get … actually I don't know what he thought."

"Ah," Harry said. "So you're specifically on Dumbledore's side, guarding me from Death Eaters on his orders."

"Don't say his name out loud, either. The Ministry may well be listening; Fudge has been trying to discredit him as senile ever since he began saying You-Know-Who was back. He's, er, mostly left you alone because you're not saying it too, but if he gets wind that you're in league with Dumbledore..."

Harry's headache got a touch worse. That meant there were three major factions already: Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Fudge. He, Harry, wasn't sure he wanted to side with any of them, which would spell a fourth faction. Other than him, each had multiple spies and double agents. And the war hadn't even started yet.

On second thoughts, if everyone else already had moles, maybe that meant he should-

"Right," Harry said. "Well, I'm taking the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley, if you want to follow along."

"You are?" Rosie asked. "I thought the school lists hadn't come out yet?"

"They haven't. I'm getting some clothes adjusted."

Rosie thought for a moment. "If it was just for school, you'd wait and get them done at the same time as your supplies, so this is for something earlier. You also haven't asked for someone from the Order to go with you, so it's probably for something you know they wouldn't approve of. Gee, I wonder what that might be."

"What do you mean, the Order?" Harry asked.

"Er. I mean, that is … yes."

"It's secret," Harry said. "I would usually ask for help from someone from it, so it's a codename for Dumble- uh, for our mutual friend's supporters."

Rosie sighed. "I'll make you a deal: I'll Apparate you to Diagon Alley, and you don't tell anyone about that, and especially not that you got it from me."

"Done."

Rosie scrunched up her face. There was a blur of melting flesh, and she aged ten years in as many seconds. She was suddenly his age, with twin blonde pigtails, mild acne and a healthy bust. Now that the army shirt only came down to mid-thigh, Harry saw her stockings were actually part of a unitard.

"My eyes are up here now," Rosie said. "Age Charm. It would make much more sense to have you go shopping with a school friend than some random girl, wouldn't it? You paedophile."

"Er," Harry said. "Right. And if someone points out that you don't actually go to Hogwarts?"

She shrugged again. "The same thing I guess we'll do if we run into the actual Lalors." She Switched her 'outfit' for a traditional set of robes in her purse, took Harry's hand, and Apparated into Diagon Alley.

It was even brighter, cheerier, and more full of life than Harry remembered. The shops weren't flooded with students like they had been on the previous occasions he'd visited, but they still did a boisterous trade with adult witches and wizards. There seemed to be many more foreigners than usual; mostly Continentals and Americans, with a smattering of darker-skinned and Asians. A handful of buskers was spread around the Alley, playing fast-paced music Harry unconsciously began tapping his foot to. Fliers for the Panemque Circus, which was to provide a series of free shows in London, courtesy of the Ministry, were tacked to walls and liberally strewn across the ground.

Harry picked up a flier and read it in detail. There was a stylised cartoon of a man flying a broom around an angry Hippogriff with his hands cuffed behind his back, on a fifteen-second loop, at the end of which the Hippogriff caught him, messily.

_Death-defying feats!_

_Life-threatening situations!_

_You will not believe your eyes!_

_You will not WANT to believe your eyes!_

_An incredible show of talent and ill-advised bravado, with a very real chance of FATAL ACCIDENTS!_

_Come and see THE AMAZING PANEMQUE CIRCUS, premiering on the 13th of August in London, for a FREE night of awe-inspiring terror!_

On the reverse side was a series of reviews:

"_Whichever sick mind thought this up should be arrested."_

_- The Daily Prophet_

"_My children still have night terrors!"_

_- Julia Hottsborough_

"_Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin..." [repeated eighteen times]_

_- Eric Danwidges_

"This looks interesting," Harry said to Rosie.

She glanced it over. "I remember them from years ago," she said. "I saw their last show before they disbanded, after the Amazing Splinching Man..." She shuddered. "... After his act didn't go as planned. I suppose it's taken them this long to get new members."

"Think I could get together with Ron and Hermione and go?" he asked.

She snorted. "I doubt Dumbledore would like that. Too easy to attack. Someone could blast the entire circus into orbit, and people would assume it was an accident."

They walked towards Madame Malkin's shop. "Do you think Voldemort will attack it?"

Rosie cut him a shrewd look. "I thought you weren't so sure he was back?"

"Er. I'm not, really. I mean I was under a lot of stress, and there was a fair amount of mind-altering magic flying around. There's no telling what really happened. But I mean Dumbledore thinks he is, and you obviously trust him, so … _Ginny_?"

The little redheaded girl playing _Witches, Curses, Money_ on a worn fiddle looked up and froze on an off note.

"Oh Merlin kill me now," she said in a very small voice, turning scarlet.

"No, don't stop, that was really good," Harry said. "I didn't know you played. Or busked."

She was standing before a battered stand with a book of sheet music. At her feet was a top hat containing a scattering of Knuts and two Sickles.

"Uh," she said. "Well. Er. Yeah. Mum tried to make me learn to sing when I was younger, and I wasn't very good at that, so I … yeah. An uncle gave me this for my eighth birthday, so I thought I might as well try. And, well, I've done this every summer for a few years, just to earn a little spending money and get out of the house."

"I wish I'd thought of that," Harry said, thinking of life with the Dursleys.

"Please don't tell anyone," she said. "I really couldn't stand it if my brothers found out. Or Mum. Dad might be all right. But not anyone at school. I mean, could you imagine if-"

"What's all this, what's all this?" said an unwelcome voice behind Harry. He and Rosie turned. It was, of course, Draco Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson by his side.

"Oh, no," Ginny mumbled miserably.

"Leave her alone, you git," Harry said.

"My, someone's feeling touchy," Malfoy said, his face glowing with delight. "I can't imagine why. Sheasley, play something calming for him."

"Unless that thing breaks halfway through," Pansy said.

Ginny put her fiddle down and squared her jaw, despite looking close to tears. "If you've got something to say, then why don't you just go ahead and say it."

"Who, me?" Draco asked. "I could laugh and laugh, of course, but really, when you get right down to it, I can't think of anything funnier than knowing that you're living on my charity." He fished a handful of Galleons out of his pocket, threw them into her hat, then strolled off with Pansy, singing _Witches, Curses, Money_ at the top of his lungs; Pansy came in an octave above him after a few words.

"Gits," Harry said.

"You should have thrown those Galleons back in his face," Rosie said.

Ginny looked down and emotions plainly warred across her face: contempt for Malfoy against avarice for more money than she'd had in her life.

"I don't think we've been introduced?" she said instead. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

"I'm Rosie Lalor." They shook hands. "And Harry's right; you were very good. Keep playing."

Ginny's blush still hadn't abated. "I don't think I can with you watching. For people who don't know me it's not so bad, but..."

Rosie nodded. "Boy, do I know about performance anxiety. Bane of my existence. Come on, Harry." She took his hands and led him along.

"How old are you, really?" Harry asked.

"Why, you've known me for years, Harry. I'm the same age as you: fifteen. Except when I'm not."

Harry rolled his eyes and followed her into Madame Malkin's, where he met his next surprise. Malkin was out, and her assistant was minding the shop floor: Cho Chang.

"Oh," Harry said, his stomach dropping at the sight of the pretty witch.

"Hi," Cho said, colouring.

There was a pause.

"I suppose you both know each other?" Rosie asked. "My name's Rosie Lalor, by the way."

"Yes, we're a year apart at Hogwarts," Cho said. "My name's Cho Chang. How did you two meet?"

"Also at Hogwarts," Rosie said. "I guess we must have just never noticed one another."

"I would have thought I'd notice you," Cho said, eyes flicking below Rosie's neckline.

"I didn't know you worked here," Harry said, trying to change the subject.

"Well, yes, it's good to do some part-time work over the holidays. Get some references and work experience, you know. Don't you do anything like that for your holidays?"

"Er," Harry said. "There's this Muggle family that likes me to help around the house. Cook dinner, do the gardening and so on."

"Oh, do you cook?"

"Yes; he's very good," Rosie said, with a well-fed smile. "Harry, are you going to show her your robes?"

"Oh yeah. I need these taken out."

They made more feeble conversation while Cho set Malkin's array of enchanted tape measures and needles to work, but Rosie kept making vaguely creepy comments, and after she accidentally tripped over her own feet to make him catch her, he was only too happy to pay and get out.

"What was that about?" Harry asked angrily, back in the Alley.

"Hmm?"

"Accidentally-on-purpose tripping over your own feet."

"Actually, that really was an accident," Rosie said. "Like I said before, I hate swapping bodies. When we're walking along like now across flat ground and I get a rhythm going, then I'm fine, but most of the time I'm dead clumsy when I'm not in my real body or something very close."

"Yeah, right. Will you Apparate me back to Privet Drive, then?"

.. ... ...

_Dear Harry,_

_I know that I am not your father and I cannot forbid you from going to the Ministry's High Gala, but you must see that it is too dangerous for you to go alone. We've sent a guard to go with you to make sure nothing happens. If she tells you to run for it, don't argue, just go, please._

_Be careful, don't touch anything you haven't seen someone else touch, keep away from anyone with a wand in hand, be careful of any known Death Eaters or anyone wearing long sleeves, don't wander off alone, and don't go exploring the Manor. Keep on your toes._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Remus_

"It's a party, not a firing squad," Harry said indignantly, reading it twice in his bedroom, on the evening of the Gala. "And no, I was going to team up with a Death Eater to go looking for Dark artefacts. Honestly."

There came a crack from behind him.

"Wotcher, Harry."

"Hello, Rosie. Are you posing as my date tonight?"

"What do you mean, posing?"

He turned around and did a double-take. Gone were the shapeless black robes and the pimples: Rosie was now in skin-tight red Spandex which covered her torso and little else, with heels, gold-trimmed white gloves, a yellow tie, and a beret. Her hair was bleached platinum and about a foot longer than before, tied in a thick braid coming down lower than her dress did. Her face was smooth and clear, with the perfect complexion of someone who couldn't find a use for makeup if she tried.

"Hot damn," Harry said involuntarily.

"Down, boy. Before we go, a warning: I'm your only backup. Everyone else there is an enemy or neutral. See if you can't make friends with someone, because it'll really bite later if they all go over to the other side."

"Yes'm." He thought for a moment. "Do you have your wand on you?"

"What kind of bodyguard would I be if I didn't?"

"Where? You can't possibly have a pocket in there anywhere."

"I'll tell you when you're older," Rosie said. She stepped forward and overbalanced; Harry darted forward and caught her. "Cheers. New rule: you walk me everywhere. I can't learn the lily walk in under ten minutes."

"Why did you wear heels, then?" Harry asked, somewhat distracted.

"Because it's fun to dress up at these gigs. Come on, use that Gryffindor courage! Fortune favours the bold!"

There was a pop and a squeezing feeling and they were gone.

.. ... ...

Greengrass Manor, better known as The Outpost, was a mansion of about ten thousand square feet, two storeys high on average, with dark wooden panelling and a slate roof. It was surrounded by a small forest of mostly magical trees, bushes and flowers; beyond this were fields stretching out as far as Harry could see. Rosie landed him on a six-yard-wide sun mosaic fifty yards from the house, surrounded by floating torches. A twelve-foot marble statue of a warlock with a staff glared down at them.

"State your names," it growled.

"H- Harry Potter and Rosie Lalor," he croaked. The staff was bigger than him. "We were invited."

"You were invited for seven o'clock sharp."

Harry rolled up his sleeve to check his watch. It was a minute twenty seconds past.

"Don't let it happen again," said the warlock. It straightened and froze.

A path of sand and chunks of granite meandered up to the house. Statues of magical animals lined either side; Aethonans seemed to be the most popular. One was emblazoned across the front doors, which were wide open, letting out light to join the last of the sun's. When Harry and Rosie drew level, the hosts stepped out to greet them: Daphne and her mother.

Harry knew Daphne by face as the only blonde girl in Slytherin of his year and by reputation as possibly even more arrogant than Malfoy, but thankfully she mostly kept her arrogance to herself rather than shoving it down people's throats. She wore a bottle green dress which just happened to match his perfectly.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," the mother said, smiling warmly and shaking his hand. "So glad you could join us. And you brought a little friend!" The temperature dropped a few degrees. "So charmed. Dwynwen Greengrass."

"Rosalind Lalor. This is a lovely house, madame."

"Oh, indeed. Daphne, why don't you show Mr. Potter around?"

"Hang on," Harry said.

"I'd love to," Daphne deadpanned, and with a smile like her teeth were being drilled, she took Harry's arm with surprising strength and led him into the reception room. It was easy to see why this part of the house looked three-storey: it had a very high ceiling. Candles floated everywhere; the walls were covered in Realist paintings; Ministry officials were chatting with bevies of Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws.

"Greengrass," Harry said, pulling her to a stop, "what's going on?"

"Potter. First, let me say that none of this is my idea."

He reached inside his robes for his wand.

"Oh put that down. If you curse me, you'll have fifty wands on you in seconds, and again, none of this is my idea."

"Rosie will be here in seconds-"

"Mother could talk the legs off an Acromantula," Daphne said, rolling her eyes, "and then talk them back on. Shut up and listen for one moment, Potter. Mother wants me to" she put an extra dose of contempt into the word "seduce you and persuade you, with your purported honour, to marry me."

"What?"

"I know you're lying when you say you don't know about You-Know-Who being back, although I don't know why. Malfoy's been trying to get us over onto his side for months. He tried to make mini-Malfoy charm me; you can imagine how well that turned out. Mother thinks that, assuming he really is back and it isn't some elaborate plot, either you will win, and we'll ride your coattails to victory, or you'll be killed, and we'll claim to have been the ones to double-cross you. Either way, we get more power.

"Except this all involves me having to sleep with you. I don't like you, Potter. There's a very good reason I've barely spoken three words to you in my life before now. I'll pretend to be civil to you for tonight and tonight only. If you touch me, I will curse you, Mother be damned. Understood?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I appreciate your honesty."

"Oh, shut up, Potter. Just talk about something else until your own tart shakes Mother and I can tell her I failed."

"Is your family really neutral?" he asked.

"I take it you don't know a single thing about us," she said.

"Give me a break. I don't spend my time reading up on every family in Hogwarts in the off chance I might have to fake a date with them."

"Which is why you would never have been put into Slytherin," Daphne said, looking down her nose at him with the aid of her eight-inch heels. "Greengrass is old, rich, and powerful. We've built our fortune over the centuries by never getting involved in any conflict. We run our farms, we sell to whoever buys, we buy more farms. We do not get involved."

"But that is involved, isn't it?" Harry asked. "If you sell food to Voldemort or Dark people, you're helping their side."

Daphne snorted with contempt. "Food? Show some imagination, Potter. Animals. Herbs, raw potion ingredients. Special breeds. Services. And we sell to whoever buys. If Light families are too stubborn to do business with those who don't sacrifice their children to their cause, that's their own lookout. We. Are. Neutral."

"What do you mean, sacrificing children?" Harry asked quickly. He still wanted verification of Voldemort's claims about Dumbledore.

"Will the Weasleys fight You-Know-Who?" Daphne asked. "Doubtless. That's Gryffindor's entire _raison d'être_, isn't it, always get involved? Note which of us has the fortune. And if you allow six sons to fight someone like that, you can't expect all to come out alive."

"You don't know they won't," Harry argued.

"No? Do you think you can win a war without losses? Who on your side do you suppose will die?"

Harry's mind whirled over everyone he knew who would fight against Voldemort. None of them deserved to die, but the odds of all of them making it… "Someone has to fight for what's right."

Daphne raised a pencilled eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, Greengrass knows that it is possible to win a war without losses. By selling weapons to both sides. Enjoy your war, Boy Who Lived."

Rosie came staggering out of a doorway and almost knocked Harry down. He caught and steadied her. Dwynwen was two paces behind and shot Daphne a glowering smile. Daphne gave an I-tried-my-best apology shrug.

"Oh, hello again, Minister," Dwynwen said, brightening. Cornelius Fudge had arrived, surrounded by an entourage of lackeys; beaming, he shook Harry's hand. The only person of his group Harry recognised was Percy Weasley.

"Hello, Dune," he said; Dwynwen gave a tinkling laugh. "Young Daphne, Harry. And who's your charming friend? Is this the Hermione Granger I've heard so much about?"

"No, sir," Rosie said, curtseying and almost falling yet again. "Rosie Lalor. Hermione couldn't make it today."

"That's too bad," Fudge said. "The brightest witch of her generation, they say, and only a Muggle-born?" Harry's hackles rose, but he kept mum. "I should like to meet her. Still, Boy Who Lived and Triwizard Champion, and not even fifteen yet! Not bad, not bad at all. With accomplishments like this, who knows? One day, you might even be a contender for my position. I only hope I've retired by then!"

His cronies laughed.

"Of course, before then, you really must learn how to speak in public," Fudge went on. "What to say, when to say it … and most of all, when not to say it."

"If this is about those – those ramblings about You-Know-Who being back after the Third Task," Harry said, "you're right, and I'm sorry if that's caused you trouble. I think I had been Confunded."

"Oho!" said Fudge. "You hear that, Xenophilius?"

Harry had the impression of a large, pot-bellied man who had been struck by lightning a few times. "So you believe there was a conspiracy at Hogwarts?" he asked. "Confundus? Possibly Imperius? Strange spells and potions?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood, press," Fudge said. "By the way, didn't you bring your daughter along? She'd be about Harry's age, wouldn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Xenophilius said absently. "She went outside to talk with the Aethonans."

"A Lovegood is with our Aethonans?" Dwynwen asked suddenly.

"She loves animals," Xenophilius said.

"I must be going," Dwynwen said. "I must check on the – er – house-elves." And she hurried off.

"Yes, Mister Lovegood," Harry said, after a pause. "Barty Crouch actually used Imperius on us in the classroom. He was posing as Mad-Eye Moody at the time."

The journalist's mind was clearly whirring, and Harry had the unwelcome feeling that he had just unleashed a monster. "Fascinating … and your potions master is Severus Snape … I must talk with Luna. Would it be possible to receive an interview at your convenience, Mr. Potter? Our readers must know about these events."

"Absolutely," said a man in navy robes and a lavender fedora, who was standing as far from Lovegood as the group's size would allow. "Quixus Richly of the Daily Prophet, and we would be willing to pay well for an exclusive."

Gears turned in Harry's brain. "Well, if it would be in the public's best interest," he said.

"I'll send an owl," Richly said.

"I'll send two," Lovegood said immediately.

"Come, gentlemen!" Fudge said, laughing jovially. "There will be plenty of time for business later. For now, there are people you simply must meet! Nivideus Drax, the owner of Britsh Quidditch Limited, made me promise to present you the instant I saw you. Here, have a drink."

A platter of wineglasses floated over; he deftly plucked two off, passed one to Harry, and took a sip of the other himself. The rest of the group took glasses.

"Aren't I a little young?" Harry asked dubiously.

Daphne rolled her eyes again and sipped from her own glass.

"Never stopped me," Rosie said, and downed hers.

"You know," Daphne said to her in an undertone, "I've had Potions with Gryffindor for four years, and I've never seen you once."

"That's probably because I'm a Hufflepuff," Rosie said easily.

"Oh, really?" Daphne asked. "You poor thing. What electives do you take?"

"Muggle Studies and … Care of Magical Creatures," Rosie said, thinking that Daphne would never have taken the first and remembering from Ron that Slytherins shared the second with Gryffindor.

"Drink up, my boy," Fudge said.

Harry looked down at the wine. Well, he'd been having Butterbeer for years. He tried a sip, found it was quite nice, and tried a bit more.

"Hey, this ain't bad," he said. He keep drinking, and soon the glass was gone.

"Of course our nettle wine is good," Daphne said. "I'll have Mother send you a bottle. Share it with the Weasleys. I imagine it'll be the best they ever have." They laughed, except Rosie and Percy; even Harry chuckled idly. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking down at his empty glass. _Hey, Vodlermort. Heh. Vodkamort._

_Harry, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?_

_Eh? Wine. With nettles. Daphne's pretty._

_Sweet Merlin. Harry, how much have you had? It's not even a quarter past yet!_

_I haven't been dricking! Well, barely. Just the one. Hey, did you know there's a girl at school whose dad works for the papers? Called Lula. No, wait._

_Harry, Bellatrix Lestrange, whose BASELINE is crazy as a burning sack full of rabid Nifflers, sounds more coherent than you, after 'just one glass'. You sound like you've had a dozen and probably mixed medications in, too. _Voldemort paused._ Oh don't tell me you've been taking anything harder than alcohol. That's supposed to be a FORMAL PARTY, you moron!_

_I haven't touched nothing! Heh. Haven't, nothing. But serially, just the one glass. An it wasn't that bad. Rosie had one, an she's sboer as a brick. She's pretty, too._

_Oh, for the love of … THIS is why I never had children. Look, get outside with someone who can Apparate and have them take you somewhere you can sober up._

_I ent drunk! One glass ain't enough! It ain't enough! It ain't enough!_

… _Oh sweet Merlin, you're telling the truth. Which means someone's obviously drugged it. It's a trap. Get out of there, now._

_But Daphne-_

_DAMMIT POTTER! Someone's either trying to poison you or get you to sign a contract or I don't even know what. Get outside NOW. I'm sending people to pick you up. You did at least get some privacy before calling me, didn't you?_

_Uh?_

Harry looked up, to realise that he had been muttering under his breath for the past few minutes. Rosie, smile fixed, was shaking his arm and squeezing hard enough to cut off circulation; everyone else was just staring. He stumbled backward, pulling Rosie down with him, and broke out giggling.

"Uh, nothing to see here!" Rosie said. She kicked her shoes off and pulled Harry to his feet and then to the exit. "Just … thinking about a joke from the other day … uh-oh."

Outside, two figures in dark blue robes and bronze masks popped into the circle of the mosaic. The warlock statue moved to attack them; one shot a spell at it, freezing it cold. A klaxon split the night.

"They're closing in," Rosie shouted against the siren. She pulled him inside the doorway, retrieved her wand from somewhere, took off her hair tie and gave it to Harry. "This is a Portkey. It probably won't work unless you get to the entrance circle; it's triggered by the phrase 'Up, up and away'. Get to the mosaic!"

"Ten four!" Harry shouted. He drew his wand, and they ran outside.

The two Death Eaters fell back and assumed defensive stances; guests ran out of the manor to gawk. Daphne snapped her fingers, and the alarm cut off.

"No-one attacks our territory," she said. She put her fingers to her mouth and gave a splitting whistle. Somewhere over on the right came an answering roar from something big.

The Death Eaters glanced in that direction, clearly startled. One began firing Stunners toward Harry and the house, but he was staggering so badly aiming was a lost cause, and most fizzled harmless against the Outpost's façade. One hit Percy, who was standing in the entrance way; another knocked Rosie out.

"_Indepemental_!" Harry cried, waving his wand randomly; it gave a sound like a party horn. "_Expellimellius_!" The sleeve of the Death Eater throwing Stunners burst into flame. The other grabbed his shoulder, and both popped out of sight. "Up, up and awaaay!" There came the familiar hook behind navel feeling...


	3. The Black Hole

There was a feeling like hammers. They came in regular volleys of three, throbbing with his pulse. There were knives, too; two, one on either side, sliding back and forth. There was a low buzz behind it all, something like a cauldron on the boil. He existed in this hell for a timeless epoch. Then, a blast of light and a banshee shriek blew it away.

"Good mooorning, Harry!"

"Ack. Not, light. Ah."

There came a crushing pressure from a warm, soft mass. He struggled, and a moment later she let him go.

"Time to wake up, sleepy head."

"Dark. Quiet. Water."

"Dehydration is a common symptom of a hangover. So is hypersensitivity to sound and light, and aches in joints."

Aches in joints. He hadn't noticed them before, but since she mentioned them, ow.

Gravity shifted, and something cold bumped against his jaw. He opened his mouth, and precious, sweet water poured in.

"It lives!"

"Graah."

"There's a moral to this. Never drink to excess."

Harry swallowed, nudging the glass away. "I had _one drink_."

"Oh, Harry. It always starts with one, and then, before you know it, you're stealing your sister's pyjamas to pay for your habit."

"You're enjoying this _way_ too much," he said.

"Let me have this. I've been waiting to mock you for your first night of indulgence since first year. Come on. Up, up you get. Wakey wakey!"

Harry scrunched up his eyes, then cracked one open. He was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Sitting on it by his chest was a very familiar frizz-haired brunette.

"Hermione?"

"Impairment of memories is another symptom. More memory formation than recall, though. Feeling awful?" She handed him his glasses.

"Like I challenged a Bludger to a duel and lost. Where am I?"

"This is Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Better known as the House of Black, codenamed the Black Hole. Call it that; its location is secret, and we don't want people knowing the street. Sirius is downstairs. He left you a message."

"Eh?"

"'Liquor then wine, you're totally fine; wine before liquor, you'll never be sicker'."

Harry wrapped his pillow around his head. "I didn't drink. Any. Liquor. I had one glass! Where was Sirius, anyway? He's the last member of the Black family who isn't dead or in prison."

"He was invited, actually," Hermione said. "But since it was full of pureblood supremacists – the sort of people he ran away from home when he was sixteen to avoid – he said he turned it down politely but firmly. I'm pretty sure he was lying about the polite part."

"Is Ron here?" Harry asked, looking around. His head span.

"Uh … yes. He's downstairs. He, um, thought I'd be able to take this by myself. Ginny's here too, and Fred and George and ex-Professor Lupin. So are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but they're out."

Harry poured the last of the water over his forehead. "You two had another fight, then? What about?"

"It's kind of personal … but one of the Weasleys will tell you sooner or later anyway, I suppose. Well, you know Su?"

"?"

"The half-Chinese Ravenclaw in our year with the cute little button nose who cosplays as a catgirl every Halloween."

"Er..."

"Oh honestly, don't you know anyone from outside of classes and Quidditch?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"Er. The Creevey brothers? Why, how do you know Su?" Harry asked.

"I have Arithmancy and Runes with Ravenclaw," Hermione said. "Anyway, at the end of last year, she and a boy from Beauxbatons, uh, we, uh, I hung out with them a bit, and, um..."

"You-?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, unable to speak.

"_You_?" Harry repeated.

"Well, she was very persuasive," Hermione said, with a brilliant blush, "and she had equations and graphs. They were really good equations! And it was right after the Third Task, when I was super-stressed about you almost dying, and Cedric, and..."

Harry stared.

"Anyway, I mentioned it to Ginny one night, and … well, it turns out that the wizarding world isn't as progressive as my parents, and she made a big deal about it and told everyone and I'm kind of in the Weasleys' black books right now. Except Fred and George, which isn't really a huge comfort. It's Sirius' house and he said I could stay. There was a bit of a row, but it's quieted down since then."

Harry looked her over. She was biting her nails and trying not to let him see she was giving him a sideways look.

"Hey, I don't mind," he said, "it's not as if you – aack!"

For she had thrown herself into another suffocating hug. He patted her on the back. "Thank you, Harry, thank you..."

"Hey, no worries," Harry said. "We're friends, right? Ron and Ginny'll come round eventually. They always do. What happened last night?"

"According to Tonks-"

"Who?"

"The woman who went with you. Was it her Rosie form? She's a Metamorphmagus, a shapeshifter, and uses fake names for different faces."

"Obviously she wouldn't go around calling herself Tonks while disguised as someone else," Harry said with a nod. "She told me she used an Ageing Charm to swap between child and teenage forms."

"She lied," Hermione said. "She's an Auror, in the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's secret society to fight Voldemort. They've been training her to be sneaky with her gift, like using similar bodies so people don't realise the full extent of her powers. I've read four books on Metamorphmagi this summer; they're fascinating."

"Only four?"

Hermione stuck out her tongue. "Anyway, her emergency Portkey took you here last night. You were unconscious and smelt odd, and when Sirius touched you you threw up, so we kind of panicked and did some medical tests on you. You didn't seem in danger, so Jingo scrubbed you down and we left you here."

"Jingo?"

"A house-elf. The Black Hole came with one, Kreacher, who was I suppose a little odd, and whom Sirius, ah, didn't get on with very well. Then his acquittal came through out of the blue and I told him he could free Kreacher and hire him for a wage. But Kreacher was old and the shock of being freed gave him a heart attack." Her eyes welled up. "And nobody seemed to care. I gave him a funeral and buried him in the back yard, and no-one came."

Harry interpreted 'a little odd' as meaning he was utterly despicable and there was a very good reason why nobody but Hermione mourned his passing. Almost certainly, Sirius had no intention of hiring him back.

Hermione sniffed. "So then Sirius went out to look for a free house-elf, but for some reason he couldn't find any, until the Patils said that they had more than they needed and that we could have Jingo and some of his children. They thought he wasn't a very good house-elf and didn't really want him, but they've all been really good so far. I suppose they really don't want to be freed and then fired."

"You actually talked Sirius into freeing his house-elves?" Harry asked. He didn't know Sirius' views on the issue, but as a pureblood and a bit of a slob, it seemed hard to imagine him caring.

"Yes," Hermione said, beaming. "He even got me to witness their first payday. Anyway, what do you remember happening last night?"

"After I got there, I remember … I talked to Daphne Greengrass for a while. She's a right snob. Then I had one glass of wine, then things blurred," Harry said. "What did your medical tests find?"

Hermione sniggered. "C-88. Lots of C-88. It's a banned recreational potion."

Harry frowned. "What sort of name is C-88?"

"An abbreviation of the full IUPAP name, _Cachinno 0.88 __alucinarique 0.65 __nequ'alti 0.31_. Technically speaking, it's a potion specification, not an actual potion; but it induces laughter, hallucinations, and generally a sense of unreality, while only causing minimal side effects."

"This is minimal side effects?" Harry said, rubbing his temples.

"I think that it might have reacted badly to you taking a Portkey through a Fidelius, and possibly the wine. Also, the dosage was a little high. Much like yourself."

"Oh, shut up. What happened to the Death Eaters?"

"According to this morning's Prophet," Hermione said, a frown appearing on her face, "they weren't Death Eaters. They're probably right to say it, too; they were only using schoolboy hexes, and their robes were the wrong colour. They say they were probably vandals, and probably from Ravenclaw."

Of course Voldemort wouldn't have his people dress in Eater robes, not if he was trying to keep his revival secret for now.

"What's bothering you now?" Harry asked.

"The Prophet." She took the morning's copy off his bedside table and held it up in front of him; through his migraine, he could only make out the headline: BOY-WHO-LIVED'S BIG DRINKING PROBLEM.

"I hate slow news days," he said, falling back onto the bed.

"It's a six-page story, plus editorials," Hermione said, shivering. "I'm glad I made my parents stop getting that paper, after those Skeeter articles."

"It must have been Fudge. He was there, he kept telling me to drink it..."

"Oh, Harry. Peer pressure is no excuse." She paused. "Oh fudge, Fudge. That's not good."

"Who would you have preferred it to be?" Harry asked.

"Anyone. Have you been getting the Prophet?"

"Paying good money for that load?"

"Point, but it lets us know what Fudge wants people to think. You see, he refused to believe You-Know-Who was back, and instead thinks that you and Dumbledore made it up: you to get attention, Dumbledore to destabilise the Ministry and gain power."

"I thought Dumbledore literally turned down the job of being Minister," Harry said.

"No-one ever accused Fudge of being bright," Hermione sighed. "So he's been trying to paint you both as troublemakers. He's already gotten Dumbledore demoted in the Wizengamot and ICW. He probably pushed for this headline; if he drugged you, that means he'll do whatever it takes to quash you and Dumbledore. It doesn't help that you gave such an unconvincing account in June."

"To be fair, fake Moody had been throwing Confundus and Imperius and Merlin only knows what else around like confetti," Harry said. "I can't remember more than flashes of what went on in the maze."

"I'm not blaming you, but it looks bad, and if he really is back, it means things aren't being done to stop him," Hermione said.

Harry wondered whether he should try to argue that he wasn't a drunkard for his own sake, or whether he should let it stand, thus helping Voldemort. Of course, from past experience, he probably wouldn't be able to convince anyone anyway.

"Hermione," he said, "do you know of any smart Muggle-borns?"

"Um. I don't like to blow my own horn, but-"

"Okay, stupid question. What I meant was, successful at business. Or having written some really important books, invented some good spells. Doing well in politics. Having made a real splash in the wizarding world."

She bit her lip in thought. "If you mean having half a million acres like the Greengrasses, no, I don't think so. It takes generations to build up that kind of wealth."

"No, nothing that big. But, say, in the Muggle world, poor people set up successful businesses all the time, even if plenty of them fail. And I can't think of any at all in the wizarding world."

"I think Florean Fortsecue's Muggle-born."

"I was thinking of a bigger splash than an ice cream shop."

She thought for longer. "I haven't read many biographies, only a few dozen, so I couldn't really say for certain, but..."

"If you can read dozens of them and not find anything, that's pretty much a no, I think," Harry said.

"Where are you going with this?" Hermione asked. "You're not turning to blood purism, are you?"

"Oh, please. I just think it's odd. I mean, you're obviously brilliant and you'll do well in life" Hermione flushed "but there've surely been other Muggle-borns like you before. Shouldn't you have heard of one of them?"

She frowned. It was her 'I will research this if it takes two solid months in the library' frown.

"Anyway," Harry said, "what have you been doing this summer? What is this place? I didn't know Sirius had a house."

"Well, as you said, he is the last Black who isn't dead or in prison for life," Hermione said. "Black's a Noble and Most Ancient House, and more importantly, it has money. It was pretty disgusting when he first let us in, since no-one had lived in it for almost fourteen years, from when he was first arrested, but we've mostly gotten it clean. Jingo and his children have been a big help."

"What do you mean, _first_ arrested?" Harry asked. "I didn't know he had any priors."

"Apparently, after twelve years in Azkaban and two more on the run, freedom goes to one's head."

Harry rasied a hand to his forehead.

"It's only been small things so far," she went on, "Apparating UTI, brawling, inappropriate use of limericks in public spaces and so on. He's downstairs; shall we go? I'm actually rather hungry, and Chatri – one of the elves, Jingo has eight or nine children running around helping – makes excellent pancakes."

Sirius was in the dining room, making his way through one of several stacks of pancakes and giggling over the _Quibbler_. He looked up when they entered.

"Morning, Hermione, Hangover."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, making it marginally messier. "Doesn't anyone care that I was drugged and could have been poisoned?"

"No, we're all still laughing at it," Sirius said. "Except Molly, she was indignant on your behalf."

Harry sighed and turned his attention to Sirius' paper. "What's that say?"

Sirius passed him the magazine.

_Hogwarts: premiere wizarding school, or primo whiz supplier?_

"I'm doomed," Harry said.

"Not until paragraph three, page two, you're not," Sirius said. Harry flipped the page. It named Snape as the primary dealer, and asserted that Hufflepuff was actually a scam to allow Mexican labourers to grow raw ingredients in the greenhouses for cheap. Deeper in, Flitwick was accused of illegally providing Cheering Charms, and even McGonagall was implicated. Oddly enough, Dumbledore was assumed innocent.

"What sort of sorry excuse for a newspaper is this?" Harry said.

"Only the best on the market," Sirius replied.

"It's a pretty average market, really," Hermione said.

"_Mexican_ labourers? We're five thousand miles from Mexico! And … he interviewed Selena Fernandez, not her real name … this sounds like Rosie. She isn't even a student!"

"I always did wonder about Hufflepuff, though," Sirius said. "Want some of these pancakes? We only have maple syrup and cream to put on them; sorry if you wanted something … stronger."

"Ha. Do you have tea?" Harry asked.

"Nope. The kettle's Dark. We haven't managed to break the curse on it yet."

Lupin walked in, yawning. "Morning, all."

"Don't say it," Harry said.

"Say what?" Lupin asked.

Harry passed him the paper and watched as his eyebrows rose, and rose, and rose.

"I wish I'd known about that when I was at Hogwarts," he finally said, and gave it back to Sirius. "Harry, I went and picked up your belongings from Privet Drive last night, and I was curious about some of the books I found."

"Er," Harry said. It probably wouldn't go down very well if he said that Lord Voldemort had given him them. "I bought those myself. From a bookshop."

"How did you even hear about Occlumency?" Lupin asked, frowning. "I hadn't even heard of it before."

"What's Occlumency?" Hermione and Sirius asked.

"Anti-mind reading magic," Harry said. "And, er. Last year, I overheard a Slytherin seventh-year mention that Snape was a Legilimens, meaning mind reader, so I looked that up and found that Occlumency would prevent it."

"He can read minds?" Sirius asked. "That cheating scum!"

"Are you still bitter about that game of whist?" Hermione asked sweetly.

"Fifty Galleons," Sirius grumbled.

"Never mind that now," Lupin said. "Harry, it's past time to tell the world about the night of the Third Task."

"I don't remember," Harry said reflexively.

"You-Know-Who must have hit you with a Memory Charm-"

"Junior Crouch might have hit me with one," Harry said. "Or Karkaroff might have slipped me a drug to get me off my game, or something in the maze could have done something..."

"Why do you find it so hard to believe what happened?" Lupin asked. "You know he survived in wraith form. You know Pettigrew went to find him. You told Sirius you'd been having dreams about him recently, indicating he was regaining strength. And Crouch practically confessed to everything before he was Kissed."

"We know he survived long enough to possess Quirrell," Harry corrected. "He hasn't been seen since then; we don't know whether Wormtail found him or is hiding in Peru now. I also had a dream that Ron was an Animagus who could turn into a set of pyjamas. And Crouch … as Fudge said, he wasn't exactly a reliable source, was he?"

"Cedric did die from a Killing Curse, though," Sirius pointed out. "It's not like Dumbledore would have put anything in the maze that could do that."

"He did, actually," Hermione said. "Crouch."

"Do you really think it's likelier that Crouch did all of that on his own initiative and _didn't_ have a plan to revive You-Know-Who," Sirius asked, "or that he had someone pulling his strings?"

"I don't know what to believe," Harry said. "Obviously Dumbledore thinks the evidence points that way, and I guess I trust him enough that I believe it too. But I still don't remember what happened. I can't give any evidence Dumbledore hasn't; what do you want me to say? I won't lie."

"Possibly something which doesn't make it sound like you're Snape's number one customer," Sirius said, waving the _Quibbler_.

Harry shrugged. "I'll give a statement when I have something to say."

Ron wandered in a minute later and gave Harry a big grin. "'Lo, Harry. How's it going?"

Harry stood up to clap him on the back. "I'm away from the Dursleys, Lord Voldemort hasn't tried to kill me in months, and Sirius isn't eating roadkill any more. Brilliant. What are we doing today?"

"Have you done all your homework yet?" Hermione asked brightly.

"You're kidding, right?" Ron asked, incredulously. "There's three weeks left!"

"Um, Ron? I live with the Dursleys," Harry said quietly. "Summer homework isn't really a chore for me."

"Oh," Ron said. "Er. Sorry."

"Don't be. But yeah, I've finished everything except Potions and History."

"I was under the impression you were an expert in Potions," Sirius said, holding the _Quibbler_ out. Ron took it and began reading.

"We can go over that together," Hermione said brightly to Harry.

"Does anyone know where the twins are?" Lupin asked idly. "I wanted to ask them how their work on Shield Enchantments was going."

"They took Ginny to Diagon Alley for the day," Sirius said. "They left early. They're looking for premises for their Wheezes shop and Ginny said she was spending the day with some friends. Can someone tell them not to call it Weasley Wizarding Wheezes? It's the only name I've ever heard whose acronym has more syllables than itself."

"What about World Wide Web?" Hermione asked.

"Is that an Acromantula thing?" Sirius asked, after a beat.

"I'm so alone," she said to herself. Harry caught her eye and winked.

"Are Shield Enchantments anything like the Shield Charm?" Harry asked.

"Well, yeah," Sirius said. "They're the Enchantment equivalent. Enchantments are harder than Charms and aren't really covered in the Hogwarts curriculum; you get a bit of them from Charms, Arithmancy and Runes, but you really need to do a separate diploma or a lot of private study to be any use in them. Basically you draw up some magic runes and imbue the charm into them, and it can maintain it for you."

"I asked them to try to put Shield Enchantments onto clothes," Lupin said. "It'd be valuable for the Order if we could have passive armour like that. We'd pay them, of course. I don't think they'll get very far, they're a bit young, but they might make a bit of progress."

"Aren't Enchantments supposed to be really difficult, though?" asked Hermione. "It took me ages to learn the theory behind the Protean Charm, and that's supposed to be the easiest Enchantment."

"That's NEWT-standard," Sirius remarked.

"Yes, they are difficult," Lupin said to Hermione. "Hence the term 'try'. Unless you're an exceptionally strong wizard, it takes a lot of work to cast an Enchantment as good as the Charm and have it last more than a few minutes. Last I checked, they had it good enough to deflect rubber bands, which isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Could you have it only activate in response to a keyword?" Hermione asked. "If it isn't on all the time, it should last longer, and it could be made stronger."

"We've considered that," Lupin said, "but there are a few reasons why not. That's more complex; it leaves one open to sneak attacks; and if one has time to say a keyword, one could just cast the Charm. We don't let people in the Order into combat if they can't manage a simple Shield Charm."

"Which, Ron, is one of the reasons why you're not allowed," Sirius said.

"Hmph," Ron said. "I'll get it when we go back to school and I can practise."

"So what shall we do today?" Hermione asked.

"Can we go flying today?" Ron asked Sirius.

"Not here, but we could Floo to the Burrow."

"Dumbledore won't like Harry leaving the Fidelius without more security," Lupin warned. "I'm going to be busy today."

"Dumbledore isn't Harry's guardian," Sirius said with irritation.

"True. But Molly and Arthur are devoted to him, and won't be happy if you use their Floo without their permission for that."

"Actually," Harry said, "Hermione, if you don't mind … that Occlumency stuff is way over my head, and I'd really like to get at least some of it down before I see Snape next."

Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Good luck with that," Sirius said. "He's a member of the Order. He drops in once a week or so."

"You'd rather do extra work than go flying?" Ron asked. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Harry Potter?"

"I've spent the entire summer worrying about what Snape might grab from my head," Harry said, which was true enough: it would be awkward if he then told anyone else that Harry was conspiring with a Dark Lord. "Occlumency is the only defence."

"Wait, Snape's a mind reader?"

"So they say," Harry said.

Ron cleared his throat. "There's room for three at your desk, right?"

Even with Hermione's brilliance and patience, Occlumency was fiendishly difficult. They made progress, but it was frustratingly slow going, and by lunchtime, Ron had quit.

"Forget it," he said, flopping onto Harry's bed. "Snape can read my mind all he wants. It's not worth learning an entire subject from scratch, not when we can drop Potions at the end of the year anyway, and there's no way we'll manage it in three weeks."

"It's not so bad if we don't get it perfect before term," Hermione replied. "It just means we'll be that much closer to mastering it. I mean, suppose we got it by Christmas, that'd be something, wouldn't it? And even if we don't get it perfect, partial Occlumency must be better than none."

Harry wondered if he could keep away from Snape and Dumbledore for that long. Probably not, but a partial defence might be enough.

"That would still mean we'd need to throw an extra subject onto our course load," Ron pointed out. "A hard subject, in our OWL year. If we're going to do that, couldn't we at least try something cool like an Animagus transformation?"

"You could ask Sirius for some pointers," Harry said, "but I'm sticking with Occlumency. I think it's probably more valuable to me than it would be to you."

"You think you have more secrets than Ron?" Hermione asked perceptively.

"Uh, I meant that Snape picks on me more," Harry said.

"I wish," Ron grumbled, but he refused to continue with Occlumency, and instead took Sirius up on his offer to go flying around the Burrow. Harry loaned him his Firebolt, to his delight.

"So you see the problem," Hermione said, after Ron was gone.

"What, with your fight with him?" Harry said. "I thought you were working together well enough."

"He only spoke directly to me to argue," she said, "and even then, only because he wanted me to help him learn this. And then he left because I couldn't. It's not my fault this is so advanced!"

Harry couldn't help but notice that this was pretty much how they always behaved together. "I know," he said patiently. "And in four hours you've gotten as far as I did in weeks."

She glowed. "You've been helping me catch up, though."

"I know," Harry said, "but you've been repeating things back to me and asking questions and things. I think I've learned as much as you have."

"Well, yeah," she said, as though this were obvious. "Tutoring someone else is always the best way to revise material, because it exposes any holes in one's own comprehension so effectively. Why did you think I always do so well when I spend so much time helping you and Ron?"

"Maybe because you're a genius?"

She blushed. "Well. Yes. But mostly it's because I study a lot and have good revision techniques. For another, we should break for lunch; it's no use trying to learn something hard on an empty stomach."

Harry felt a breeze and glanced to his right; there was a plate of sandwiches on the table.

"Oh, blast," Hermione said. "I keep trying to tell Jingo that I can take care of myself, but he won't hear a word of it."

"Well, he is a paid servant," Harry said. "What did you expect him to do?"

"I don't know, but I can make my own sandwiches. I'm not _Ron_." Even so, she followed Harry's lead and took one.

Harry chuckled. "Bitter much?"

"He's supposed to be my friend, and he's barely said a word to me for weeks, because of one time which wasn't even his business. If I weren't afraid that being with my parents would paint them as a target, I wouldn't even be here."

Harry stared. "Why would it?"

"Why would people attack my parents? Because I'm your friend. You-Know-Who -"

"Also, why do you call him that? You weren't alive for the First War; how can the name frighten you?"

Hermione paused and thought about it for a minute, polishing off her sandwich. "I suppose it just rubbed off on me. The name doesn't bother me as much as it does most adults. Anyway, if Wormtail found him, he'll know that I'm important to you, so I'm a target, and so is anyone near me."

"Er," Harry said. "But if Voldemort wanted to attack you to get me, don't you think he'd be willing to attack your parents to get at you?"

_Hey, Voldemort, that promise not to hurt Hermione extends to her parents, right?_

_No, Potter, I'm going to waste my valuable time attacking a pair of dentists OF COURSE I'M NOT GOING TO HURT THEM._

_Jeez, just checking._

Hermione plainly hadn't thought of this. "Uh. That's. A really good point, actually. I … I think I owe them an apology. Oh, no, I've spent the past month here away from them for no reason, I feel like such an idiot-"

"Hermione-"

"- and I've hated it here, I hate this house." She took another sandwich. "I've been fighting with everyone. I have to go back, right away. Should I take the Knight Bus? I really hate it, but I don't have my Apparition licence and my parents' place isn't connected to the Floo–"

"Hermione," Harry said again. "This is a Friday."

She stopped. "Oh. Right. They'll be at work now anyway."

"When Mister Weasley or any of the other adults get back, they can Apparate you over," he said. "And in the meantime, um … I'd really appreciate some more help with Occlumency."

"Uh. Yeah. Sorry." She sat back down. "Sorry, I've just been kind of worked up lately, and I thought that with you back, everything would go back to normal, but it hasn't and my parents will be mad that I've been avoiding them for no reason and..."

She gave him a 'please hug me' look; he obliged. "I thought your parents looked nice. I can't imagine them getting mad at you trying to protect them."

She leant into him. "I guess. D'you think it's odd that you've known Ron's parents since you were twelve but still haven't ever met mine?"

"I guess I was in a rush to really get into the wizarding world, and since they're Muggles…"

"They've been curious about you since I first mentioned you were my friend," Hermione said, breaking the hug. "Do you want to have dinner with us, tonight?"

"Um."

"I'm sure they won't mind. You are my best friend, after all; they'd love to meet you."

"Well-"

"We could take Sirius along, the Order won't mind you being out of the Fidelius it he's with us," she went on. "I'm sure my parents would like to meet him too; they were so impressed to see Professor McGonagall's Animagus transformation."

Harry finally caught the note of desperation in her voice. She must have spent the holidays isolated from both her best friends, away from her family and apparently with even Mister and Missis Weasley chilly toward her. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as being with the Dursleys … but then again, she hadn't had ten years to get used to them.

"Sounds fun," he said.


	4. Butterflies

Tensions ran high as soon as everyone got back to the Black Hole that evening. Mrs. Weasley immediately began criticising Fred and George for leaving Ginny unsupervised in Diagon Alley and Sirius for taking Ron out of the Fidelius; Hermione and Ginny traded barbs about one another's hair; Mr. Weasley asked Ron and Sirius how the Firebolt handled, which perhaps wasn't the kind of support his wife had hoped for.

"Excuse me, Sirius," Hermione said, trying to keep away from the glares from half the Weasleys, "but I was thinking I should spend the rest of the holidays with my parents. I don't see them enough as is."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "We can't spare guards for you over there; mail will probably be delayed..."

"I know, but my mind is made up."

Sirius shrugged. "No worries; tell me the address and I'll Apparate you over. Jingo!"

The House-elf edged out from behind the elephant foot umbrella stand. "Where sh'll I go?"

Harry couldn't help but stare. Where the Hogwarts elves had all been dull green, Jingo was bright blue, with orange eyes, outrageously large triangular ears, and three catlike tails. He spoke in a musical Indian accent.

"I'm taking Hermione back to her place; I need you to follow with her things,"

"Please," Hermione added politely.

"With ease," Jingo said. He salaamed and vanished.

"Also, I invited Harry over for dinner."

"I can make two trips," Sirius said easily. "And if you need a guard for the night, I can-"

"No!"

They turned to look at Mr. Weasley.

"Please, my entire life has been leading up to this point," he said. "A dinner with real, live Muggles, who know about magic and can talk about Muggle things? This is perfect! Please, Hermione, may I come?"

"Um," she said, alarmed. "We're none of us very good chefs. And since I'm unannounced, I think it'd be better not to have too many people at once."

"Please let me go instead of you," Mr. Weasley said to Sirius, his eyes widening in supplication.

"Uh – yeah okay," Sirius said, stepping away. "I um, have to feed Buckbeak, anyway."

"I thought the house-elves did that," Ginny said. Sirius trod on her foot. "Ow!"

"Sorry," Sirius said, and stepped on it again.

"Just let me get changed," Mr. Weasley said. He raced up to his room.

"Have I made a horrible mistake?" Hermione said softly.

"Not tonight," Ginny replied. Hermione mouthed something impolite back.

"You are coming back, right?" Ron asked. He held Harry's Firebolt out.

"I am," Harry said, taking it. "Hermione isn't. Sorry, but this is the first time Sirius has been free and not living in a cave."

"I don't mind; we don't really have room," Hermione said. "It's only a three-bedroom place."

"What's the problem?" Sirius asked. "One for your parents, one for each of you? Not that I'm objecting to Harry staying here by any means."

"Because Tess absolutely hates sharing," Hermione said.

"Who?" Sirius said for all of them.

"Tess," Hermione said. "My younger sister."

"You have a little sister?" Ron asked, surprised enough to forget their quarrel. "Since when?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Since she was born, eleven years ago."

"You've never mentioned her once," Ron said, in a faintly accusing voice.

"That would be because you've never once asked me about my home life," she replied.

Harry's face burnt, and he stared at his feet. It was one thing never to have had dinner with her parents; he hadn't done that with any of his friends' parents but the Weasleys. He wasn't sure it was really a Done Thing in wizarding society. However, he was pretty sure that four years of being best friends was enough time that he should have asked about her family at least once.

"So, uh," Mrs. Weasley said uncomfortably, "is she starting at Hogwarts in September? You should have invited her over here."

"No. She's a Muggle."

The awkward silence stretched on for ten painful seconds, before Harry had had enough.

"Do you want to borrow half the Occlumency books?" he asked desperately. "I'm sure I won't be able to get through all of them. You know what, why don't I grab them now."

He ran upstairs and dropped his Firebolt on his bed, before a prior obligation occurred to him. "Er, Jingo, can I ask you something?"

The house-elf appeared beside Harry's trunk with a crack. "Yessir, what sh'll I bring?"

"This house was full of Dark stuff when you got here, right?"

"I'deed, sir, 'twas a rare sight."

"Have you thrown all of them out?"

"Some; others remain about."

"Could you not get rid of any more without telling me? I'd like to see how you disenchant that sort of thing, and maybe I could do one."

"Very well, sir; it shall be done." And Jingo vanished with another crack.

_Voldemort?_ Harry thought. _Are you there?_

_I'm doing the crossword. Can you think of a six letter word for 'to say', fourth letter is probably an E?_

_No. Look, Sirius got a team of house-elves to help chuck out the Dark stuff here._

_Where are you now?_

_Sirius' House._

_Which is where?_

_Under Fidelius. Nice try. I don't trust you not to send Death Eaters to kill him._

_Fair enough, since I probably will at some point if he's still working for Dumbledore._

Harry mentally sighed. _Promise me you'll capture, not kill?_

_If I can help it. As for the Dark artefacts, do you know how thorough those elves are?_

_Pretty, I think. They say they've gotten most but not all of it._

_Oh well. You only promised you'd do as much as you could. Do try to get __something__; it's a sad world when a Slytherin Dark Lord keeps his promises better than a Gryffindor Light Hero._

Harry was back downstairs a minute later with the two harder Occlumency books in his rucksack. Hermione was examining a now-beaming Mr. Weasley up and down, noting the steel-capped boots, flared tie-dye jeans, singlet, tie, and Akubra; she turned to Harry, with his ratty trainers, too-wide and short jeans, and torn shirt.

"You know," she said at length, "my parents haven't really met any wizards either. Why don't you both wear robes? It'll be like a meeting of cultures."

"That makes sense," Mr. Weasley said. "Just a minute." And he headed back.

"If you want us to make a good first impression, you might not be working hard enough," Harry said.

"Point," Hermione said. "Lakshmi! Could you please make me up a low-acid fruit basket?"

There was a flash of navy blue and a soprano voice, "Mistress has only t'ask it," and a basket of fruits, only about half of which Harry recognised, popped out from behind the umbrella stand.

"Do they always speak in rhyme?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "All the time. Argh! Now they have me doing it too!"

Harry chuckled and went upstairs to change into his school uniform; when he returned, Hermione was gone, and Mr. Weasley was waiting for him in his faded black robes.

"I've already taken her," he said. "I can't Side-along two at once. Ready? Three, two, one-"

There was a feeling like being toothpaste squeezed out of a tube, and he was outside the Grangers'. Hermione was waiting, the fruit basket in her hands and Harry's bag on her back.

"What the," Harry said, staring up, and up. "Your parents own all this?" It was a glass-walled skyscraper, one of the highest Harry had ever seen. In fact, they were surrounded by skyscrapers; it must be a central part of London.

"They own a maisonette in it," she corrected. "Who could possibly use all of this? It's over twenty storeys tall."

"Malfoy could probably manage it," Harry said.

"Maybe, but even he'd have trouble," Hermione said. "Come on."

Mr. Weasley was delighted to discover that lifts could lift people _without having to use stairs_, and would have begun dismantling the plate of buttons with his wand had Hermione not hastily pointed out that this would likely jam the elevator and possibly get her a warning for underage magic. They stopped on the sixth floor; Hermione led them down a hall to a door and knocked.

There was a pause of a few seconds, then a woman's voice, "Coming!", and shuffling feet. The door opened, revealing a second Hermione in a blue unitard. "Hermione!"

"Hey, Mum." She stepped forward and hugged her double. "These are Harry Potter and Mr. Weasley, Ron's dad."

Hermione's mother dislodged her daughter and offered either hand to the wizards. "Danielle Frobisher. Call me Danni, definitely not Mrs. anything, not until I'm sixty at least. Oni's told us so much about you, Harry. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley."

On second look, she wasn't quite identical to her daughter. She was a few inches taller, had a few more freckles and smile lines, and her eyes were blue. Other than that, the resemblance was eerie. Danni could almost have passed for twenty.

"Call me Arthur," Mr. Weasley said, taking her left hand. "Pardon me, but – shouldn't that be Danielle Granger?"

"Oni?" Harry mouthed to Hermione, taking the right hand. She gave him a 'that never leaves this room' look.

"We try to be very modern," Danni said, walking them in. She talked rather fast. "Come on, come in. I already had a bit of a reputation as a dentist when I was married; I didn't want to lose it by changing my name. And I hear the paperwork's a pain; I _hate_ paperwork. We just gave Oni the one name, though; a hyphenated name seemed like a pointless chore. Em didn't mind. He's working a bit late, but he'll be round in a few minutes. Tess is at a sleepover. Sorry about this" she indicated her outfit "you caught me in the middle of my yoga routine. Well it's not exactly yoga, it's a derivative; yoga's a bit New Agey for me."

The apartment was quite large in absolute terms, but felt tight because, unsurprisingly, bookshelves lined each wall. Harry glanced at some of the titles, and noticed they were labelled with Dewey Decimal tags. The walls were almost fully obscured, but pictures hung from each door; usually pencil sketches of landscapes, except with one or two people sitting in them, lying on benches or picnic rugs. They were good, almost photorealistic.

"So what's happened? I thought you were helping some people renovate a house this summer?" Danni asked. "You wanted it on your CV?"

"Oh, we finished a few days ago," Hermione said, technically truthfully. "I thought I'd be there all holidays and we still wouldn't finish, but they hired some House-elves, and they have an excellent work ethic, you know. So I'm back early. I invited Harry and Mr. Weasley to dinner. You don't mind?"

"No, not at all, we'll just heat up another pizza or two."

Harry gave Hermione a dubious look; she shrugged.

"What's a pizza?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Danni gave him a blank look. "Um. A circular pastry with toppings. Wizards don't have pizza? You poor, deprived people. Come on, Arthur, I'll show you one."

She took the fruit basket and they went ahead into the kitchen, and soon Mr. Weasley's exclamations of delight at the microwave oven could be heard.

"Hermione Granger, who brushes her teeth three times a day, lives on a diet of frozen pizza?" Harry asked sceptically.

"What would always happen when I was younger was that we'd all sit up, reading or studying or so on, and then at about ten o'clock someone would ask whether we were having dinner," Hermione said. "We all tend to get wrapped up in our own little worlds. Mum and I went through learning-to-cook phases, but eventually we all realised that cooking just isn't worth the time and effort, so now we mostly live on microwave or frozen food. It's not so bad. It's gourmet pizza, we get salads for nutritional balance, and it's not particularly bad for one's teeth…"

"A meal takes maybe a quarter of an hour to prepare," Harry pointed out.

"And that's enough time for me to read a chapter. Come on, Harry. I'll show you my room."

It was actually a whole lot messier and more cramped than he'd imagined. Her bed was narrower than the Hogwarts bunks; there was a desk, covered in paperwork, pens, and a typewriter; the walls were lined with more bookshelves, but these were overflowing onto the floor. The floor also featured a stuffed bear and tiger. A small television set was on a stand by the door.

"None of the mess is mine," Hermione hastily disclaimed. "As a hobby, Mum writes submissions for Mills and Boon; she does it in here so Tess doesn't read the, um, interesting sections."

"No offence," Harry said, "but couldn't you afford a bigger place than this? I mean, if your parents are both dentists, they must earn more than my uncle does, and he has a separate house."

"My parents aren't into Veblen goods," Hermione said. "If you live in a suburban house, you need a half-an-hour drive to get anywhere; with high-density development like this, my parents can walk to their practice in ten minutes. Plus it costs less to heat in winter. They're very conscious of air pollution and oil dependency and so on. And it's better to spend the money on books, after all. Oh, look!"

There were two owls perched outside the windowsill, looking in rather anxiously. She hurried over, fiddled with the catch, and let them in; they shivered for a moment, and offered letters. The teenagers took one each, and the owls flew off.

"The standard back-to-school letter," Harry said, reading his over. "First of September as usual, and a booklist. I only have two new ones: the next _Standard Book of Spells_ and _The Art of Not Dying_, by Lachrymosa Bellevue. You, too?"

Hermione dropped her letter and threw herself at Harry. "Eeee!"

He sat quite stunned and awkwardly patted her head. "Er."

"I made prefect!" she squealed. "I can't believe it!"

"You can't?" Harry said.

"Well. No! It's supposed to be someone who the other students will listen to, and everyone listens to Lavender. Who listens to me, except you and Ron?"

"You thought Lavender Brown would be made prefect," Harry said, detaching her. "Hermione, you're supposed to be smart. The rest of us have known you'd get it since the end of our first week at Hogwarts."

"Well. I still think it's good news. How about you? I bet you got it too."

Harry picked his envelope back up and peered into it. Nothing. Nothing on the reverses of the reminder or the book list, either.

"Okay, now _this_ I can't believe," Hermione said. "You not make prefect?"

"You honestly thought I was a better bet than you?" Harry asked, tickled.

"You _are_ Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived extraordinaire," she pointed out. "People always listen to you, and you're the best boy in our year at classes."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm no better than Ron. Dean and Seamus beat me in some classes. And Neville … is good at Herbs."

"Not true," Hermione said. "Okay, maybe we don't know for sure since you didn't do exams last year, but the year before, your average was, let me think" she did a burst of mental arithmetic "about three percent higher than Dean's, the next best, even after Professor Snape doctored your grade downward at least fifteen percent. I'm pretty sure you're the only one who can cast a Patronus. And that doesn't count the boot camp I put you through for the Tasks, where you learned half a dozen difficult spells."

"Maybe," Harry said. "So who do you suppose did get prefect? Ron?"

Hermione gave him a look. "I know I might be a bit biased right now, but can you think of a reason why Ron would make a better prefect than you?"

Harry thought, feeling disloyal because he couldn't think of more good things to say about his best friend. "Er. Because he's … related to two former Head Boys and could ask them for advice?"

"Percy isn't speaking to him – did you know? Apparently he's loyal to Fudge now – and you could ask Bill as easily as he can. And anyway, can you imagine the allegations of nepotism?"

"Can I?"

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione said. "They've made two Head Boys, three prefects, a Quidditch Captain and two other team members, out of the first five sons. The odds of getting all that from five randomly selected Gryffindors is minute; if Ron and Ginny make it too, it'll look like they only got it because the Weasleys are friendly with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall."

"It might be because of the drugs thing," Harry said bitterly. "They don't want to look as though they're giving responsibility to someone like me."

"Hmm," Hermione said, unconvinced.

"Who do you suppose did get it, then? Dean?"

"I suppose so. Hey, Mum!" she called. "I made prefect!"

"That's wonderful!" Danni said, bustling in, Mr. Weasley in tow. He was opening and closing a side tin opener with an expression of mystification. "I'll throw a tin of beets onto your pizza to celebrate!"

"Can – can I try to open it?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Her smile slipped a notch. "Um. Of course you can. Just try not to lose your grip on the tin opener again."

"I'll try my best," Mr. Weasley said solemnly. "You must keep your tins in the refrigerator so they don't get rusty, right?"

"I'd better supervise," she said, and ushered him out.

"Well, your mother certainly knows how to party," Harry said.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said. "Hey, look, more owls."

There were three more at the window. These all gave their letters to Harry and stayed for responses.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I represent the popular magazine _Witch Weekly_, and I would like to arrange an interview with you to discuss your account of the Triwizard Tournament. If you are willing, perhaps we might meet up in two days at The Peppercorn Café in Diagon Alley?_

_Yours truly,_

_Meri Filandra_

"It's a request for an interview with someone from _Witch Weekly_," Harry said. "She must have heard from Richly and Lovegood that I was giving them away."

"Probably, because these are from them, also wanting interviews," Hermione said, having scanned the other two.

"What should I do?" he asked.

"Mind she doesn't see you topless, or you'll wind up as another pin-up," Hermione said.

"_Another_?"

"Colin Creevey hid in the change rooms when you won the Quidditch Cup in third year," Hermione said. "I wonder how much he got for it..."

"I was thirteen!" Harry protested, flushing.

"True, but one of the girls who put it up was only twelve. I would say … turn down Lovegood; being in the _Quibbler_ won't help your reputation at all. Definitely turn down Richly. He's one of their most anti-Dumbledore writers; he'll do everything he can to make you seem like a fool."

"But you think it'd be a good idea to talk to Filandra," Harry said dubiously.

"Every witch in Britain reads her. The worst case scenario is that you stop being a public drunkard and start being a teen heartthrob; the best case would be that the world hears that You-Know-" She caught his eye and sighed. "That V-Voldemort is back. I'm pretty sure Fudge has too much dignity to suppress _Witch Weekly_."

A certain Asian Ravenclaw appeared in Harry's mind's eye. "Uh … yeah, I guess that wouldn't be too bad."

Harry had just finished sending the last response when there came the sound of the door opening. He followed Hermione out, to where she was hugging Emmanuel Granger. He was slim and sandy-haired and quite unremarkable.

"Hi, Dad," she said. "I'm back early, I've invited two wizards over for dinner, and I just made prefect."

"Of course you did. You're Hermione," he said. She glowed. "Pleased to meet you," he added, offering a hand. His eyes flicked upwards. "Harry Potter? I've been hoping to meet you for a while. Who's the second?"

"Arthur Weasley, Ron's dad," she said. "He's playing in the kitchen with Mum."

"Hmm. Guess I'd better say hi in a minute." Em's tone cooled slightly. "Harry, could I ask you something in private?"

"Don't damage him," Hermione called after them.

He led Harry out onto a terrace. It was quite cold and windy this high up, but the view was marvellous. The storm clouds from yesterday morning were almost overhead; thunder rumbled.

"So, Harry," Em said, "I understand you want to marry my daughter."

"If it's all right- wait, what?"

Em sniggered. "Sorry, I've been waiting to say that ever since the ultrasound. No, what I actually wanted to ask you was this. You know most of what Oni does, don't you?"

Harry thought back to her confession about the Ravenclaw girl and the Beauxbatons boy. "Not everything. But most, I guess so."

"Her letters are very carefully worded. Reading between the lines, there's a lot she omits. Things she doesn't want us to know about. She's been getting into danger, hasn't she."

Harry flashed back to Sirius' rescue mission at the end of third year. "Sometimes. She didn't do anything like that last year, though." After all, the Second Task had been 'perfectly safe'.

"Is her life in danger?"

Harry's eyes slid sideways. Em's gaze was fixed on him. A few droplets of rain landed on the terrace.

"If she were, you'd pull her out of Hogwarts and send her to a Muggle school," Harry said.

"I've read some of her history books. Fifteen years ago, there was a war of extermination against Muggle-borns, and the other side was winning until you killed its leader. Many of its apologists got off and now have senior positions in magical government, and I bet they haven't changed their views. Can you guarantee they won't rise again?"

"... No, sir, I can't," Harry said. "But I can promise they won't hurt Hermione."

"Can you really. You can't be everywhere at all times, Harry."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"I can if her safety is dependent on it."

"Lord Voldemort is alive again and I cut a deal with him. I won't fight him, and he won't touch me or any of my friends."

Em raised an eyebrow. "Do you trust him? I thought he tried to kill you, three or four times."

"I do. He wants to take over Britain, and I'm a figurehead for the Light. My neutrality is valuable to him; Hermione's life or death isn't."

"And if you're wrong?"

Then all three factions would happily kill her.

"Or if Voldemort wins because you bowed out?"

"I care about her as much as you do, sir," Harry said. "Believe me, if I thought pulling her out would do her a favour, I'd tell you to, even if she hated me for it. But right now, I don't believe it would help. The best thing is to keep her in school where she'll at least learn defence and have a plan to flee the country or go into hiding if things worsen."

Em thought for a moment. "I suppose that's all I could ask of you." He stretched. "By the way, what's this I hear about you taking recreational drugs?"

Harry twitched. "Hermione said you stopped getting that paper!"

"I lied."

"That paper was – I didn't – I was-"

Em was sniggering again. "I never said I believed it. It does tend to disagree with Oni, after all. Besides, you don't exactly come across as having a cooked brain." He gazed upward, at the storm clouds. "Have you ever heard of chaos theory, Harry?"

"Er. Is this the war between chaos and order, and-"

"No, dynamical systems with high sensitivity to initial conditions."

"I have not."

"Weather is like that. Even the tiniest perturbation to the airflow, down to the flapping of a butterfly's wings in Brazil, can have consequences which snowball out of control, like redirecting hurricanes on the other side of the world in six weeks' time, completely unpredictably. What tiny change do you think meant that we'd have this storm, rather than another week of heat? What else has it already changed irrevocably? And if something so small can cause something so large, what does that mean of human actions? What storms will Oni unleash?"

Harry thought of Voldemort's resurrection ritual, and the still darker rituals he had hinted at. "She won't destroy anything that shouldn't be."

Em smiled. "'That which can be destroyed by the truth should be'. Hodgell. Come on, I smell the heady aroma of charring pizza."

It wasn't too badly burnt. Danni had put two pizzas in the oven; Hermione and Harry wound up sharing a supreme with sliced beet, which worked quite well together.

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, her shiny new prefect's badge pinned to her shirt, "do you have any idea who the new Defence professor is? We have another new textbook this year."

"I do," he said with a smile, "and it was quite a coup for Dumbledore. You see, Fudge has gotten Dumbledore demoted in the ICW and the Wizengamot and now wants to have him thrown out of Hogwarts, so he passed a decree stating that if Dumbledore couldn't fill his staff, Fudge could choose who would take the job. He wants to install one of his people and have them spy or even try to drive Dumbledore out. Since the last few Defence teachers all ended up-" he glanced at the Grangers "- quitting, he didn't get any applicants, so Fudge appointed one of his best women to the job.

"What he didn't realise is that she's actually loyal to Dumbledore. So now we've got double agents passing bad information to both Fudge and You-Know-Who."

"Who do we have spying on Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Mr. Weasley flinched. "We probably shouldn't talk about this in front of-"

"My parents?" Hermione asked, miffed. "It's Professor Snape, Harry."

"The man you described almost verbatim the same way you described Dementors?" Danni asked. Harry and Mr. Weasley laughed.

_Hey, Voldemort. Apparently Snape's a spy for the Order._

_Dumbledore THINKS he is. He's only been telling him information I want passed along._

"So, don't you think we should buy Hermione something nice to celebrate her prefecture?" Danni asked Em.

_Although, now that you mention it, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired a known Death Eater and kept him for fourteen years if he wasn't confident he was on his side, would he. And I suppose I DID sort of kill his boyhood crush that one time._

"Well, there was this one book I had my eye on," Hermione said. "Or two."

"Or two hundred," Danni said.

"Heh," Em said. "I'm just glad you were never into flying. I can't believe parents buy broomsticks for their children! Really, I can't believe the school lets them."

_And he hasn't really told me anything Wormtail didn't already. If he was in Dumbledore's pocket, he'd certainly have known about Wormtail._

"Oh, flying's quite safe," Mr. Weasley said. "I've had three sons play for the school, and none's ever had a serious injury."

"It's not just that," Em said. "Those things are expensive! I'll bet there are many poorer families who couldn't afford them."

Hermione made an ixnay gesture.

"Especially Muggle families," Danni cut in hastily. "Especially with the pound/Galleon exchange rate what it is. It's highway robbery."

_And he's a half-blood. He can't possibly buy into blood supremacism any more than I do. And he's had Dumbledore whispering in his ear for the past thirteen years … do me a favour and don't say anything to Snape, will you? I don't want him to know I know just yet._

_Whatever, just shut up! I'm trying to eat dinner here!_

"I always thought it was unfair that the teams were allowed their own brooms," Hermione agreed. "It seems like it undermines the idea of Quidditch being all about skill if some people can just buy their way to a victory."

"Er," Harry said, conscious of his international-standard racing broom. "To be fair, it does take a lot of skill to handle a good broom. Without practice, it's very easy to overshoot or crash..."

"I don't just mean you, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. "Remember the year before, when Slytherin had those Nimbus Twenty-Ones?"

"Two thousand and ones," Harry and Mr. Weasley corrected together.

"And you only beat them because Malfoy can't fly? Don't you think you'd have been bitter if they'd scored a few more times, or if Malfoy had outraced you, and won that match? I know the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were pretty angry about it when they lost."

"But there's also a lot of skill involved in matching different brooms," Harry argued. "You need to try to match up players so that your strengths dominate theirs..."

"I was under the impression the Slytherins had the strictly best brooms on the pitch in every position that year," Hermione said.

"Er. Well, yes."

"And the year before last, the Ravenclaws were furious you won on your Firebolt," she went on. "They almost stopped talking to me, until I told them I'd gotten it confiscated for weeks."

"We only won the House Cup from the points we got from the Quidditch Cup," Harry reminisced.

There was a pause while they all tried some fruit, some of which was a little more animate than most.

"What was that plastic box I saw in the living room?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Em's baby," Danni said with a smirk.

"It's a desktop computer," Em said. "I installed Red Hat last month; I've been using it to … you have no idea what Red Hat is, do you."

"Of course I know what red hats are," Mr. Weasley said. "I was just wondering what you meant by 'installed'."

.. ... ...

The next morning, Sirius took Harry and Ron up to the Black Hole's attic.

"I still can't believe you didn't make prefect," Ron said.

"I wonder who did, if not either of us?" Harry said. "Hermione thinks Dean's the best bet."

"I couldn't have seen them giving him the badge ahead of you," Ron said. Harry would have demurred, but honestly, he couldn't see it either.

Sirius unlocked the attic door and lit his wand. Inside, Buckbeak dozed on a pallet. Along the far wall were a dozen full rubbish bags.

"This is where we've been doing the disenchanting," he said. "It's had to be somewhere out of the way, because sometimes curse removal is messy. Someone takes Buckbeak for a walk whenever we're working, obviously. Your brother Bill's our main player here, but he's been working overtime at Gringotts for the past fortnight. We're not doing anything without him; some curses fight back.

"These first eight bags are all full of now-harmless junk; it mostly seems pretty worthless so we're probably just going to throw it all in a Muggle tip, except for the eighth, which is silver. We threw out four more bags like them earlier. Mundungus isn't allowed in here, obviously, no matter what he says. These next three are full of stuff that's still cursed which Bill has tentatively classed as being low-risk; when he gets some time off, he's going to help us neutralise them, and we'll add them to the first eight. You'll be welcome to watch, I'm sure.

"This last sack is full of heavily warded stuff which we just don't have the time or manpower to deal with now. The plan is to chuck it in Dumbledore's Gringotts vault and forget about it until Voldemort's dead again, hopefully permanently this time. Dumbledore's been swamped with work; he probably won't have time to pick it up before tomorrow evening."

"Is it really safe to have all this Dark magic in one place like this?" Harry asked. "What if they, I don't know, interact with each other somehow?"

"Shouldn't matter, as long as we separate them while breaking their curses," Sirius said. "We've slapped suppression spells on the particularly dodgy-looking items; they shouldn't trigger until provoked, which is why they need to be isolated when being uncursed."

"So you're not even going to bother looking into the last bag?" Ron asked, sounding faintly disappointed. "What if there's something important in there?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not worth the effort right now. That stuff all looks like taking a lot of time and money to deal with; it makes much more sense to bury it while we can, and Dumbledore has enough space for one bag."

"I guess so," Harry said, his mind already focusing on certain details of the room.

"Since we're not touching any of my family's unholy weapons of doom, let's get out of here," Sirius said. He followed Harry out and shut the door.

"Say, Sirius," Harry said. "I just remembered something Ron said yesterday. Do you still have the notes you made on your Animagus transformations?"

Sirius rubbed his chin. "I think I left that stuff at Godric's Hollow, so it's probably long since destroyed. Same for James' copy, I'm afraid."

"Damn."

"You wanted to become an Animagus? Maybe a stag, like your dear old Dad?" He punched Harry's shoulder.

"Anything would be good," Ron said. "I mean, even being a rat worked out pretty well for Pettigrew, all in all."

"You could put it that way," Sirius said, making a face. "But you could be a snake. Or a tick or something. I think even amoebas are possible."

"Maybe not a tick," Ron conceded.

"Beggars can't be choosers. I'm pretty sure Pettigrew's notes are destroyed by now too, but there are at least two members of the Order left who could show you how."

"You and-?"

"McGonagall. Although, if, as I suspect, you want to use this as a potential surprise against Voldemort, you might not want to tell her: she's the one who bullied me into registering."

"You registered?" Harry said. "When?"

"A month ago. She pointed out that it'd be a fine mess if I were acquitted for killing Pettigrew only to be re-arrested for being an unregistered Animagus. Still, I should warn you that it's not easy, especially if you don't know anything about Arithmancy."

"You managed it in your fifth year, without anyone helping you," Ron pointed out.

"Not true: I had James and Remus helping me, and Pettigrew volunteering as guinea pig. And we'd started researching it in third year. You need to memorise the physiology of the entire target animal. And there's the rub, at least for Harry. Do you remember what Hermione was like in third year, when she did three more subjects than anyone else?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Touchy?" Harry tried.

"You're planning to learn this Occlumency thing and Seek for Gryffindor, each of which is about as much work as an extra subject. If you also try to become an Animagus, that would make three, enough to break even Hermione, even when she had a Time Turner. Plus it's your OWL year, and that's assuming nothing else comes up."

Such as, for example, becoming a mole working for Lord Voldemort.

"I'll see what I can reproduce of my notes and give it to Ron," Sirius continued, "but Harry, I doubt you'll have the time to read them unless you drop something else. I remember James was harder-pressed than me because he had Quidditch, and he eventually had to drop History."

"I thought you couldn't drop the core subjects until sixth year," Harry said, thinking of Potions.

"You can't. If he'd tried it in any other class, he'd've spent the entire year in detention. And he got a T in the O.W.L. Luckily, no-one cares about those after you get N.E.W.T.s. Uh, not that I'm condoning this sort of behaviour, of course. If you tell Molly I said that, I'll hex you."

Harry thought about it. He had to take Occlumency, no question. He didn't want a T in History, or Hermione's inevitable glare of disapprobation. He'd like to keep playing Quidditch; while he'd survived last year without it, he'd loved it the previous three. And becoming an Animagus would be incredibly cool, potentially useful, and one more thing to connect him to his father.

"I don't know," he said. "Let me think about it."


	5. Panemque Circus

The time was midnight.

Harry sat up in his bed and looked around. Several members of the Order were staying the night, so he had been moved to share Ron's room. Ron had gone from his just-asleep snores to deep-sleep rumbling. Harry put on his glasses, rucksack, and Invisibility Cloak, pocketed Sirius' magic knife, a candle and box of matches, and headed out.

The house was clean and Sirius had gotten some of the elves to begin painting the walls bright yellow, but it still felt eerie at night. The floorboards creaked every other step, and the roof sighed in the wind.

"Mraa," Crookshanks said.

Harry slapped his forehead. He'd thought they'd forgotten something.

"Calm down," he whispered, crouching down, "shh, it's Harry, just shut up..."

"Mrow," Crookshanks said, more insistently.

There came a soft crack, and one of the younger house-elves appeared. This one was smaller than Jingo, had only two tails, and in the dark its skin looked purple.

"Must Kitty be so loud?" he sang quietly. "Then Kitty must go out."

He scooped Crookshanks up. The cat hissed at the elf; there was another crack, and both were gone. Harry breathed out and continued upstairs.

The Black Hole's attic was really more of an entire floor with a low roof, since it was reached by the stairs and had two rooms. One contained the bags of Dark artefacts and was locked; the other was a store room for miscellaneous junk. Harry chose the second.

Inside was all manner of clutter, barely visible from the starlight coming through the lone window. Harry opened his bag and filled it with cleaning supplies and wrapped them with a patched rug. This done, he left the room and turned to the second. The lock gave way under Sirius' knife. He shut the door behind him.

With no risk of being seen from outisde, he lit his candle and went over to the bags. He recognised the twelfth, full of the Darkest items, and began unpacking it as quietly as he could. Buckbeak sneezed in his sleep. He took the rug of cleaning supplies from his bag and put it in the sack, at the bottom, where no-one would see it, then re-packed it with the cursed paraphernalia. This gave ten items left over. He put these into his backpack, blew out the candle, and headed back to his room.

He put the pack into his trunk and covered it with his worst shirts. Then he took off his glasses and Cloak and went back to bed.

.. ... ...

_Hey, Voldemort. What about that thing with the Chamber of Secrets?_

_What about it?_

_If you're not a blood supremacist, why did you try to drive the Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?_

_I didn't. It's a pretty sad story, really. Cast your mind back to the September of 1942. The air was fresh, the fields green, and London was sporadically on fire because the Nazis kept dropping incendiaries on it. We'd just gotten word that Grindelwald's Muggle collaborators were slaughtering Jews with nerve gas, and you _really_ don't want to know what Grindelwald was doing. It looked like we might be winning the war, but they were damn well making us pay for it. They'd just blown another convoy out of the water around Malta, as I recall._

_And there I was, fifteen years old and hoping to make the world a better place, when in my explorations I found the Chamber of Secrets. According to legend, it was a storehouse of Slytherin's lost wisdom; as his last descendant, I considered it my moral right to take his last secrets and use them to turn the tide of the war and take Grindelwald down. So I opened the Chamber._

_At first, it was brilliant. In the inner sanctum, I found stores of books thought lost to the ages, some even written by Merlin himself, but by no means all. Slytherin, Circe, Paracelsus … even some of Ravenclaw's notes. I do believe they had been lovers at one point. The history I found was priceless. But soon, to my dismay, I discovered that a Basilisk happened to live in the Chamber. I talked to it and persuaded it of my ancestry. It then asked to be allowed to purge the school. Naturally, I refused._

_I kept going back into the Chamber, to learn more forgotten lore, but each time there would be an attack reported in the school. Owls and cats missing or dead, someone petrified. I persuaded myself that it was coincidence, or maybe Grindelwald had a saboteur in the school. In any case, Slytherin's work was far too valuable to abandon. So I kept going back. Until they found Myrtle._

_At that point, I realised what had happened and went to confront the Basilisk. It had been sneaking out while I was reading. We … argued, and when I escaped I sealed the Chamber. I could have confessed then, but obviously that would have hampered my plans to fight in the war. Still, Myrtle's death had consequences: the school would have closed down. Obviously I couldn't allow that._

Harry interrupted. _So you framed Hagrid._

_Grindelwald was allied with the giants. I had circumstantial evidence that Hagrid was spying for him. Misleading evidence, in hindsight, but I did believe it at the time. However, I couldn't prove it to anyone; Dumbledore liked Hagrid and would have overridden anything I said. So, I framed him. And by the time the war ended and I found out he really hadn't been a spy, I'd already tangled with the Aurors and wasn't feeling very charitable toward any of Dumbledore's friends._

Harry pondered this. _I guess that makes sense … I don't like the idea of lying about Hagrid like that, though._

_I liked it less. But there was a war going, where forty million people wound up killed; if one boy expelled was the moral price I'd have to pay to end it even a day earlier, well, a day was worth about twenty thousand dead._

… _Good __answer__. But actually, when I asked the question I was referring to your diary._

_What about it, specifically?_

_Well, the part where it said it wanted to purge the school of all Mudblood filth. And tried to kill me. And Ginny._

_Good grief. It said that? I should have known. __W__hat do you know about enchantments?_

_Apparently it's difficult._

_It is. That diary was an experiment; I wanted to see whether I could mass-produce myself. I worked on it from sixth year, using some of Merlin's own notes, and finally __finished __it. So I talked with it for a while, to determine whether I had actually copied myself … and discovered that I had not. It was an insane, murderous psychopath. Needless to say, I discontinued that line of research. To be fair, I probably wouldn't have continued anyway; that diary required a certain reagent which was in rather short supply._

_If you knew it was dangerous, why didn't you destroy it?_

_Because I hadn't entirely given up hope on sapient constructs. I thought maybe, with more work, I could make one which wasn't evil. I never did, though. During the British War, I gave it to Lucius Malfoy and asked him to hold on to it for me. Apparently he and I have divergent opinions of what "holding onto" entails; we have had words about this. __And speaking of enchanted objects..._

_Yes, I filled a bag with Dark stuff. It's about a tenth of what's left; that's the most I could take without it being noticed._

_Excellent. When are you next leaving your hidey-hole?_

_Tomorrow. I'll be in Diagon Alley for the afternoon, and from there Sirius is going to take me to the Panemque Circus in the evening._

_The Circus will attract less attention. I'll have one of my people shadow you. Get a moment alone __and he'll take them off you._

_Er. Won't it look kind of suspicious if I wander around Diagon Alley with a dozen Dark items in my backpack?_

_Possibly you could keep __it__ zipped up._

_Someone will ask me what I have in it. If I say I have a water bottle, someone __might__ ask for a drink._

_Hmm. I'll get back to you on that._

_You're not planning on using this stuff for anything evil, are you?_

_Since you haven't actually described any of it, I can't say I have any plans at all. But "Dark" magic can be used for benevolent purposes, if one is creative. I believe, in any case, that something may be usable in the fight against Dumbledore, and the morality of a tool equals that of the cause of its use._

"Are you all right, Harry?" Ron asked. "You've been kind of zoned out for a few minutes."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, looking around. He and Ron were 'working' on their History essays in their room the next evening, but Ginny had wandered in a few minutes earlier, asking her brother for help with Charms. "I'm just – kind of hungry, is all."

"Mum's been cooking for about twenty minutes," Ginny said. "She wanted me to help, so I told her I had homework to do."

"Atta girl," Ron said, and ruffled her hair. She swatted his hand away.

"Hey, guys," Harry said. "I wanted to talk about Hermione."

Their lips tightened.

"You remember that time in third year, when we stopped talking to her, even though her heart was in the right place, because she reported my Firebolt to Professor McGonagall? And she got really lonely and kept on crying with Hagrid?"

"That isn't remotely the same thing," Ron said.

"I'm pretty sure the only reason she didn't go to Hagrid a week ago is because she can't really reach Hogwarts right now."

"If we're talking memories, what about last year," Ron said, "at the Yule Ball? How we had another fight because she went with Krum? Because she completely ignored any notion of, of sticking together? We're supposed to be a team, Harry, and not go running off with random Durmstrang students, and that goes as much for Beauxbatons. Not to mention that Ravenclaw girl."

"Hang on," Harry said, "by that logic, the only people she could date would be me and-"

"Exactly," Ginny said, "that's just the point, it wasn't just a date, she slept with him, and whatshername. People already start rumours about me because I let boys buy me coffee; what do you think they'll say if Hermione goes off with anyone who asks?"

"Oh no, Ginny's brother's friend who isn't even in her year has the same ideals her parents did in the seventies; let's all shun Ginny?"

"You may laugh," Ginny said, "but you're a boy and have never had to deal with that. Believe me, it's much likelier than you think; girls can be unreasonably nasty about that sort of thing."

"So your plan is to head it off by being even more unreasonably nasty?"

"Why are you siding with her?" Ron asked.

"Aside from because she's my friend and you're hurting her?"

"If she'd just apologise and promise not to do it again," Ron said, "I'd forget it, but no, of course not, probably has her eye on some Hufflepuffs now..."

"Oh please. Hermione with a _Hufflepuff_? Besides, when has any of us ever apologised for anything?"

They all thought for a moment.

"I apologised after I was possessed by Tom's diary," Ginny said.

"I sort of did after the First Task," Ron offered. "I mean, you cut me off, but I was going to."

"Yeah, okay," Harry granted, "but if you only ever apologise after I almost die, maybe this says more about my security detail than Hermione's remorsefulness."

"Maybe that's what we need," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Maybe they'll ask for a volunteer to do something crazy dangerous at the Circus?"

"And that doesn't even address the fact that it was with a girl, too," Ron said. "Doesn't that bother you, at all?"

"I said it at the Ball: I don't mind who she's with," Harry said. "I mean, as long as she isn't hurting anyone, and no offence but you've both made pretty weak cases for that."

"Is this a Muggle thing?" Ginny asked. "I mean, the way you phrased that, it makes it sound as though you don't care about morality or decency or anything; I can't imagine a wizard thinking that."

Harry had never studied or thought much on philosophy; it had never occurred to him that the Muggle and wizarding worlds might hold irreconcilable opinions. He had never thought deeply about why he valued what he did, and had certainly never tried to work out a defence for those values against those who did not share them. In fact, the extent of his philosophy was a few overheard Bible passages, vaguely remembered from ten years ago.

"Er," he said, "well, it's like this. I think there's supposed to be a golden rule, that you can do something to someone if you wouldn't mind someone else doing it to you. So you can't steal because you wouldn't want anyone to steal off you..."

"Are you saying I should sleep with Hermione too?" Ginny asked, revolted.

"No!" Harry thought harder. "Um. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?"

"Well, I haven't slept with any other girls, if that's what you're trying to say," Ginny said.

Harry pondered this until Ron smacked him upside the head. "Ow. Look, I know I can't explain it very well, but the idea is that you're supposed to forgive everything you can."

"Simple ideas are usually really easy to explain," Ron said, "and they're also a lot likelier to be right."

Harry bit his lip. _Voldemort, do you know any theology?_

_I know it's a colossal waste of time._

Mrs. Weasley's voice floated up from the kitchen: "Children! Dinner's ready!"

Harry sighed. He hadn't gotten anywhere, and now he couldn't raise it again without seeming importunate.

Mrs. Weasley insisted on helping with the cooking, much to Jingo's irritation; Jingo retaliated by setting the places with the best silver, and napkins folded into perfect equilateral triangles. Several Order members were present: Bill, Lupin, Mr. Weasley, Sirius and Tonks, who was back in her lean, dark-eyed native body. Fred and George had also showed up; they were nominally minding the Burrow, which Harry suspected meant they were conducting experiments, but showed up at the Black Hole from time to time when they couldn't be bothered cooking for themselves.

"So, is this place officially cleaned out yet?" Tonks asked.

"No," Bill said, "Sirius and I got through another half a sack today, but there are two and a half left, plus the hopeless cases. Didn't Dumbledore say he'd pick them up today?"

"He should be round any minute," Lupin said.

_Oh no. Voldemort, Dumbledore's coming. I have no Occlumency, I took those Dark artefacts-_

_Are you calling me from dinner again? Haven't you learnt your lesson yet?_

_This is urgent! He'll smell the guilt on me a mile away!_

_Guilt doesn't smell, Harry. Just stay calm, act natural, focus on your food, and try to look less like an Inferius than usual. In particular, don't ignore the conversation to focus on the voice in your head. Again._

"That's another thing, actually," Bill was saying. "The door to the attic room was unlocked."

_Aah!_

_Harry, Dumbledore's inadvertently hired two Death Eaters in the past four years, and one of those had me for a mullet. He's not that observant._

"I took Harry and Ron up there for a look yesterday," Sirius said, "but I'm certain I locked it behind me. You didn't try to get back in, did you?"

"No," Ron said.

"How could I have gotten in?" Harry asked. "I don't have a key."

Everyone's heads swivelled. Harry's heart skipped a beat, before he realised they were looking at Fred and George.

"Oh, come off it," said Fred.

"We weren't even in the building today," George said.

"We've been flat out, getting ready for-" Fred began, then remembered his mother was in the room. "- our presentation for Charms."

"Big assignment due first day back," said George. "Biiig assignment."

"Maybe it was a house-elf?" Lupin suggested. "Feeding Buckbeak, and they forgot to re-lock the door?"

"Yeah, Sirius, you should dock their pay," Ron said, and everyone laughed, the tension defused. Unknown to Hermione, when Sirius had 'paid' his elves, they had merely waited until she left the room before giving every Knut back. Also, their Sundays off were actually spent straightening up the Burrow.

There came the muted sound of a latch catching. Harry stared into his stew. There came bootsteps, gradually growing louder, and finally another door.

"Hello, Albus," Sirius said. "Stay for a bite?"

Harry couldn't help himself: he looked up into Dumbledore's eyes.

Dumbledore smiled at Sirius. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. I am rather pressed for time right now."

"The bag's in the attic," Bill said. "Come on, I'll show you which one." He stood up and led Dumbledore out. Harry slumped in his seat.

_He didn't even look at me. Why didn't he look at me? He hasn't so much as written to say hello ever since I got back from the Task, holding Cedric's body, and now he just ignores-_

_PLEASE tell me you're not talking to me while still at dinner._

_Oops._

.. ... ...

It was easy to while the time away with Ron and Ginny, playing chess or talking about nothing in particular. They were in Ginny's room, throwing two Quaffles around, when Jingo appeared at the door, holding a little bag.

"Begging your pardon, I truly do, but Master Potter, a package for you," he said, and presented Harry with the bag.

Harry took it and looked it over. It was about six inches by two by two, hot pink, had a pattern of red flowers and hearts stitched on, and sparkled like it was covered in glitter. It had a pink strap to hang it from the neck or shoulder.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron whispered in horror.

Ginny punched his shoulder. "I think it's cute. Jingo, did it come with a note saying who it's from?"

"It did. Here, let me pass it along."

Jingo handed over an envelope and bowed out. Harry tore it open. The letter was written on pink parchment.

_Dearest Harry,_

_Here's a present for you! I made it myself! Sorry I missed your birthday! I didn't realise how hard it would be!_

_It has an Undetectable Extension Charm and a Featherlight Charm, so you should be able to put almost five hundred pounds' weight into it before it starts getting heavy! Plus there are Anti-Theft and Anti-Losing and Anti-Breaking Charms on it – I hope you keep it when we're married! Yay!_

_Love from,_

_Your Secret Admirer!_

About a pound of glitter fell out of the envelope. Harry stared, quite lost for words.

"Wow," Ron said at length.

"Yeah," Ginny said. "That's … a lot of exclamation marks. Do you know who it's from, Harry?"

"I … I might have an idea, yeah," he choked out. _Voldemort, you have a sick sense of humour._

_You're welcome._

"I never thought she'd try anything like this, though."

"Do you suppose it might be doctored?" Ron asked. "Some sort of contact love potion, or a beguiling spell, or-?"

"No, no," Harry said, "it's safe. Jingo wouldn't have handed it to me if it weren't. And … that wouldn't be her style."

"Who is it?" Ron asked. "She must be a lunatic."

"You can say that again."

"It wasn't Luna Lovegood, was it?" Ginny asked.

"Er," Harry said.

"Get out," Ginny said. "_Luna_ thinks she has a chance with you?"

"I, er. I deny everything."

Ginny snorted. "Well, what are you going to do with it?"

"Burn it, and exorcise the ashes," Ron suggested.

"I think I'll settle for half a can of disinfectant," Harry said.

"If you don't want it, I'll have it," Ginny said. "Those Charms sound convenient."

"Get your own stalker," Harry replied.

"You're not honestly thinking of _keeping_ it, are you?" Ron asked.

"Er. Well, Ginny's right; a Featherlight/Extension combination _would_ be really convenient," Harry said. "I could fit all my homework and books and everything in it. And it's not like I'd have to carry it by the strap; it'd fit in a pocket."

"Yeah, but you'd have to take it out to use it," Ron said. He took up his wand and prodded it suspiciously. "You'll get kicked off the Quidditch team. People will start mugging you in broad daylight."

"Are you going to write her a note back?" Ginny asked. "It's only polite."

"Er," Harry said. "I think she'll know how much I appreciate it."

"Oh, go on," Ginny said. "It was a lot of work; you should at least thank her, especially if you're not going to wear it on the outside."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You know what? Why not. I'll go and write one right now."

"Don't forget the glitter!" Ron called after him.

In his room, Harry glanced around, then took his rucksack out and shoved it into the purse.

_Ginny bullied me into writing you a thank you note. Do you see what you've done?_

_Hee. Fair credit, though; it'll be a good way to get me the artefacts without anyone suspecting anything. And no-one in their right mind would connect it with me._

_Yeah. That's because it's stupid._

_If it's stupid and it works, it's not stupid._

Sirius knocked. "Harry? It's quarter to four, time for your trip to Diagon Alley. To talk for _Witch Weekly_." He sniggered, then cut off abruptly. "Good heavens, what is _that_?"

"A present from a fan," he said.

"I've had nightmares from less," Sirius said.

"Oh, shut up. Let's say goodbye to Ron and Ginny and go."

"You know, when Fred and George see you with that abomination..."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Harry said. "Are you going to stay with me?"

"With you carrying that? Be realistic, Harry, I have an image to maintain. Also, you should probably wear robes for this; out of looking like a Muggle vagrant, looking like a four-year-old who got into some Polyjuice, and having a reputation for excessive drug use, you can really only get away with two at a time."

Harry growled but changed into his robes anyway. Sirius pulled the hood of his cloak far over his head, obscuring his face, and Apparated Harry out the back of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Take this," he said, and handed Harry a wrapped package. "I have a linked copy. Say my name and breathe onto it, and we can talk. James and I used them all the time at Hogwarts. Sorry I didn't give you this a year ago; we only found them inside the Black Hole."

"Wow," Harry said. "Thanks."

"Give me a call when you're done, and if I'm still sober-ish I'll pick you up," he said. "Give 'em hell." And he Disapparated.

Whether it was because of the Daily Prophet article or the pink bag (Harry realised too late that he'd chosen a set of robes with no pockets), he noticed he was getting more stares than usual. The crowds were thicker than ever, with Hogwarts families shopping for new school supplies; the flyers had finally been updated to say the Panemque Circus was being held just south of Stonehenge; and apparently a crate of blue rats had broken apart near a pet shop, because they were everywhere underfoot.

He was actually rather early, so he withdrew some money from Gringotts and bought his new books before finding the Peppercorn Café and waiting outside. He began reading _The Art of Not Dying_ to while the time away. After the introduction, it was divided into three sections: Running, Hiding, and Delaying the Inevitable. Harry skipped ahead to Delaying the Inevitable, whose first spell was the Shield Charm.

"Harry Potter?"

He looked up. The woman was tall, slim, and her chestnut hair was done up in elaborate braids and curls. She beamed and offered her hand.

"Meri Filandra," she said. "So pleased to meet you! Shall we go inside?"

It was cool in the café, and dark: the blinds were drawn, and only slivers of light from the door and candles on each table gave any illumination. Harry had a vague impression of people at circular tables and some incomprehensible muttering, but altogether it felt very private, almost intimate.

"Journalists love coming here; there are privacy enchantments honeycombed around the tables," she said. "You can say or do almost anything short of Dark magic or murder, and it's undetected."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Anything?"

She winked as she led him to a table. "Ask me again when you're older." On the tablecloth were menus. Meri took out a Self-Inking Quill and circled the vegetable soup, then offered it to Harry. He ummed and ahhed for a minute, then chose a bacon omelette. The menu vanished. "It'll be a few minutes. So.

"Harry Potter!" Without turning from him, she took out a roll of parchment and began taking shorthand. "You've been pretty reclusive for someone so famous. Other than Skeeter's article last year, I don't think I've ever heard of you talking to press. Why is that?"

Her questions meandered around his school and home life before eventually turning to the Triwizard Tournament. He had to avoid or gloss over quite a few of them; things like where he lived, and anything which could get him into trouble. She kept hinting at an interest in his love life and spent what Harry considered an excessive amount of time on the Yule Ball. After a quarter of an hour, the soup and omelette materialised on their plates; at no point did a waiter appear.

"... This was when I realised he wasn't the real Moody, of course," Harry said. "He said he was the one who'd put my name in the Goblet of Fire, and that he wanted me to win because that would somehow help Vol- er, You-Know-Who come back. So he cursed the other Champions; I remember he said he Imperiused Krum to Stun Fleur and Cruciatus Cedric..."

"But didn't Cedric die?" Meri asked.

"Er. Well, I can't really remember any of what happened in the maze; I think he might have erased my memory or hit me with a Confundus. Maybe he didn't cast the Imperius properly, and Krum used the Killing Curse instead? Or maybe Dumbledore's version is the right one."

"Dumbledore gave a statement that you were taken by Portkey to some of You-Know-Who's followers, who then performed a Dark ritual to revive him. Care to comment?"

Harry had the difficult position of wanting to damage Dumbledore but not wanting to alienate any of his friends. "Er. Well, as I said, I can't remember any of it … I've never heard of any magic like that, so I wouldn't have believed it. But Dumbledore thinks so, so I guess it must be possible?"

"According to Ministry experts and insiders, such a resurrection ritual is impossible, as there is no known method to bring a departed soul back to put it in a body. What do you think about this?"

"Er. I don't think the Ministry would lie about that … but neither would Dumbledore. I guess you should ask them. That sort of magical theory is way over my head."

Meri laughed and continued. "Of course. You're only going into O.W.L. year in September. Tell me, Harry, have you given any thought to your future career?"

She kept going, asking him about what seemed like completely meaningless questions like his favourite hair colour, for almost two hours. Finally she was satisfied.

"I'll see if I can't get you a copy of the magazine," she offered. "I should be done writing it up within a few days."

"Thanks," Harry said. They left money on the table and headed out; she Disapparated. He stood in the shop's eaves, pulled Sirius' mirror out of his bag, and activated it. A moment later, Sirius appeared behind him.

"You were two whole hours, Pup," he said reprovingly. "Did you at least get to second base?"

"You were in there with me the whole time?" Harry asked. "I thought you were clubbing."

"This is a Monday afternoon. There are no good clubs open. And anyway, Voldemort might be out there, and some of his Death Eaters certainly are. For all we knew, she might have been one of them, or maybe under Imperius. Come on; the Circus is starting now. Can't you put that purse under your shirt or something?"

"It itches."

"People will think you're one of the circus freaks."

"I'm the Boy Who Lived. I'm already one of the circus freaks."

"People will think _I'm_ one of the circus freaks."

"Your idea of putting the rubbish out is to feed your empty pizza boxes to the Bundimun in the cellar. You're already a circus freak too."

"That was _one time_," Sirius said, and Side-alonged Harry to Stonehenge.

The sun was low in the sky, lighting one half of a monstrous tent. It was about ten yards high and a hundred across, roughly cylindrical with a raised top, and poisonous green. There were openings with turnstiles every few yards. This all sat in the middle of a field about fifty yards away.

Other witches and wizards were Apparating around the standing stones. Harry and Sirius headed inside, where it became apparent that there was an Enlarging Enchantment on the tent: on the inside, it looked more like half a mile across, and a hundred yards up. There were more tents inside, of all different sizes and colours, and rapidly thickening crowds, and performers of every description. There were jugglers with discs of fire and lightning; trick broom riders whizzing overhead; hedge witches conjuring patterns of light; heavily rigged games of chance and skill; and Harry even thought he saw a jet of dragon fire in the distance. Fairies flew around, carrying everburning lanterns.

"Where should we go first?" Harry asked.

"You're the kid. You should be running around amok, goosing girls and stealing fairy floss."

"That sounds autobiographical."

"You can't prove anything. I saw some flyers for a show by the Scottish Quidditch team. I have a bet with Lupin that at least one of them crashes."

"Easy money. Let's go, then."

They found it soon enough, in a luminous white tent, which was again larger inside than out. This seemed like one of the most popular events; hundreds of people lined the amphitheatre-style stadium. Harry noticed that more than most seemed to be foreign.

"Is it just me, or are there more international people around than usual?" Harry asked.

"Not just you," Sirius said. "Dumbledore saying Voldemort's back scared a lot of foreign investors; they've pulled money out of projects here. This would have led to a recession, so Fudge has increased Ministry expenditure to counter it, but they'll go bankrupt if they try to keep that up for too long, so he's paying for this partly to convince the rest of the world to leave their gold in Britain."

An announcer in the centre of the tent cleared his magically-amplified voice to present the Scottish team: they had changed five players since last year.

"They must be desperate, if they're putting on shows at a circus for money," Harry said.

"Did they even win a game last year?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, against Kazakhstan."

"Congratulations, Scotland, you can beat the Kazakhs."

The team opened by flying in formation around the tent; then dividing into groups and weaving between each other; then throwing hatchets to one another, catching them, and throwing them along; then one took out his wand and set the hatchets' heads on fire.

Harry looked up at Sirius; he was fixated on the show. "Hey, I'm just going to find the loo, alright?" he said.

"Think they're the red tents," Sirius said, not breaking his gaze: one of the Scots fumbled his catch, and it almost hit the Chaser under him, who began swearing at him, albeit without missing the routine's rhythm.

Harry exited and ran his hands through his hair. _This double agent thing is so stressful. Where's your man?_

_Right here._

Harry looked up: a tall figure in a cloak with his hood pushed forward.

"You came in person?" he asked incredulously.

"I like circuses," Voldemort said in a deep, raspy voice. He pushed his hood back, to reveal an unfamiliar black face with dreadlocks. _Let's get out of sight._

Harry followed him into a green tent which, almost jarringly, was as large on the inside as the out. "Is that Polyjuice?"

"Yes. No idea who the person is; one of my Death Eaters gave me hair Summoned from the floor of a hair dresser. Now, I was promised presents."

Harry pulled his rucksack from his purse and unzipped it. Voldemort gave a vague gesture, and the ten Dark artefacts floated out and levitated before him. He drew one in particular closer to get a better look.

"This shouldn't be," he said to himself.

"Why?" Harry asked, "do you recognise it?"

"Oh yes. This is a family heirloom. I thought it was lost in a cave, years ago. You're sure this was found lying around the Black Hole? It wasn't brought in by someone else in the Order; found on some other mission?"

"Er. No-one mentioned anything like that. Why? What's so special about it?"

"This belonged to Salazar Slytherin," Voldemort said. He drew his wand and tapped it to the locket; it turned black for a moment. "Well, at least it hasn't been damaged. It has several enchantments upon it, including a few that fortunately make it impervious to most physical damage. I lost this, years ago, in some blasted cave miles from anywhere, and I assumed it would never be found. I see my idea of unfindable needs to be adjusted. I can't imagine how the Blacks got a hold of it. I shall have to investigate." A pouch rose out of his robes, and the locket disappeared into it.

"Why couldn't I have gotten a nice, sensible wallet-looking thing like that?" Harry asked.

"Because my way was funnier," Voldemort said. He investigated the other items in turn, and put the music box, dagger, two books, quill, toy horse, kettle, snow globe and choker one by one into the pouch, which then slipped back into his robes. "Well, Harry, our bargain is concluded. Pleasure doing business with you."

"What are you going to do with those?" Harry asked.

"You expect me to tell my plans to a double agent who doesn't know Occlumency?" Voldemort asked. "Don't worry; I don't mean to kill anyone with them. You'll see soon enough. But as for now, your minder will probably be getting anxious."

Harry and Voldemort left the tent; Voldemort waved at it and it began packing itself up, while Harry went back and found Sirius again. Most of the audience was in stitches; the swearing Chaser was chasing the one who'd almost hit her around in circles flaming hatchet in either hand; her team mates were either trying to stop her, calm her down, or run for safety.

Sirius had company. He was chatting to and holding hands with a pretty witch on his left, who was laughing at his running commentary; on his right was Hermione.

"Hello, Harry," she said, giving a little finger wave.

"Hermione! How'd you even get here? This is pretty far from London."

"I took the Knight Bus, of course. I thought I might see you here." She indicated the aerial battle.

"Fair point."

Sirius' girlfriend giggled and tugged at his hand. "Maybe we could go somewhere a little more private?" she suggested coquettishly.

"Well..." Sirius glanced at Harry.

"Go on," Harry said.

"I can take care of him," Hermione said.

"I'll hold you to that," Sirius said, and walked off with the witch, arm in arm.

"So," Hermione said. "I can't help but notice a dearth of redhead."

"They had a row about it earlier," Harry said. "Ron and Ginny wanted to go; their mother refused, saying it was too dangerous here. Sirius disagrees, obviously, which is why I was allowed to come; they said this was unfair. I'm pretty sure they're going to try and sneak out; I'm also pretty sure Mrs. Weasley will be watching like a hawk."

"Fred and George are conspicuously absent from that," Hermione said.

"I think she realises there's no way she can keep them from showing up to something like this," Harry said.

He was vindicated a quarter of an hour later, after the show ended with a hasty evacuation, when they found that Fred and George had in fact set up a stall and were showing off the entire product range of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"If I were to suppose that your mother doesn't know that you're here..." Harry began.

"You would suppose correctly," Fred completed. "Do us a solid and never breathe a word, will you?"

"We really need the publicity," George said, setting off another firework.

Mostly young children thronged around their stall, begging their parents to buy them bewitched lollies and trick wands. A few tried nicking things, until Fred hit one with a stinging hex. Aside from that, the twins seemed to be doing pretty well; their stock was already a quarter gone.

"And here is our sponsor!" Fred shouted to the crowd. "Harry Potter himself! Three cheers!"

Harry ran for it. Hermione was a few paces behind, laughing breathlessly. They found a stall selling glowing, self-heating fairy floss which rather looked radioactive, and Harry talked Hermione into sharing half of his, then went and saw an impromptu manticore taming, and the dragon handlers (they stayed well back), and a catgirl who looked suspiciously like Hermione did at one point two and a half years earlier who leapt from one tightrope to another, and lost a few Sickles in a throwing game, and a singing troupe of red-painted goblins riding balloons...

It was almost ten o'clock when things changed.

"Hey, do you hear something?" Harry asked.

Hermione giggled and poked him in the ribs; she'd been acting more affectionate and speaking much more quickly since the fairy floss. "Harry, it's a circus. I can barely hear myself think."

"Do you hear screaming?"

"Yeah, I've been hearing it since Fred set off that dragon firework, 'member?"

"No, this is different. That was fun screaming; this is fear of death screaming. I should know."

Quiet spread out like a wave as people realised something was wrong. The light fairies flew for the exits, chittering loudly, leaving darkness in their wake. People began running after them.

_Harry, get out, now._

_What's going on?_

_Trouble._

"We have to help," Harry said.

"I don't have my wand," Hermione said. "Do you?"

Harry thought about his purse. Basically unlimited capacity, and it held an empty backpack and two books. "No, but there must be something we can do. Come on!"

They headed toward the screams, moving against the tide of people. Hermione put her hands on Harry's shoulder and vaulted as high as she could to get a look. She paled.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Acromantula," she said.

They thought for a moment, then turned as one and ran with the crowd.

There came a horrible ripping sound, and a hairy black leg poked through the main tent's canvas, five yards above ground. More rips came in all directions, and spiders swarmed through. The tent buckled; a wave of force washed over them, almost knocking Hermione off her feet.

"Oh, no," Hermione said. "They're destroying the Extension Enchantment's focus. If that goes-"

Another long tear appeared, and an area about a hundred yards square snapped in on itself, throwing everything inside together with a crunch.

_Voldemort, we're surrounded._

_The security here's panicking. Alright. Hero time. Brace yourself._

"We have to get outside," Hermione said. She vaulted from Harry's shoulder again. "Blast; more Acromantula that way. Where do we-"

There came a flash, a crack, and screeching. Harry took Hermione's hand and slowly led her toward it. They broke through the crowd at last, and saw a path of destruction: crushed tents, people lying prone, and dozens of spiders. They were being pelted by what looked like rain, which homed in and hissed on contact; they were writhing and smoking. In a minute, the last Acromantula finished twitching and curled up.

_Harry, move it._

He looked to the acid rain's source: a figure in a cloak with the hood up, standing on a rise.

_There are still more-_

_I know, I'm on it, but this space is collapsing. Go!_

To punctuate Voldemort's words, there came a longer tearing sound, and the ground twisted under them. Harry ran, pulling Hermione along, past the dead spiders, through pools which burnt their shoes, to a shaking, warping hole in the inner canvas, and out into fresh air.

"Harry!"

He turned; Sirius, looking dishevelled and with his pants on back-to-front, ran up to him.

"Where've you been?" Harry asked.

"Preoccupied," Sirius said. "Come on, let's get away from here; there are more of them outside, and security is absolutely useless."

"Can't you Apparate us away?" Hermione asked.

"Only one at a time, and this place is a deathtrap; I wouldn't be able to make it back for the other."

The Circus was collapsing behind them; more spiders were still swarming it from all sides. Other witches and wizards made it out, and began hexing them; Sirius blasted two apart. They jogged out, eyes sweeping left and right for another attack.

"What are they even doing here?" Hermione asked, puffing. "Acromantula don't attack settlements like this."

"I think we all know the only person who would want to attack a place like this," Sirius said.

Harry wasn't so sure.


	6. Hermione Dolohov

_MINISTER DECLARES PANEMQUE CIRCUS 'HUGE SUCCESS'_

_HUFFLEPUFF CONTROVERSY CONTINUES_

_HARRY POTTER: THE STRONG, SILENT TYPE_

"Tell me," Ron said, "what is wrong with this picture."

He was sitting around the breakfast table with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius, Fred and George the next morning, with the _Prophet_ and _Quibbler_ laid out beside Ginny's _Witch Weekly_. The rest of the Order had scrambled early on damage control, or were still sleeping in from a late night. Fred's arm was in a sling. None of them had had very much sleep.

"Obviously, Fudge is keeping the attack quiet," Sirius said. "He's probably already lost a lot of international confidence, but some people would have left early and might not hear about it. As for the _Quibbler_ … that speaks for itself, really. Harry?"

"I did tell Filandra about Voldemort," he said, shrugging. "I guess she didn't think it fit in with the rest of the article."

"It makes you seem … sensitive," Fred said, with the air of one saying something outrageous.

"Getting back to the topic of actual importance," Hermione said, "the Circus attack not mentioned."

"It is, technically," George said. "'A brief incursion by Acromantula was quickly quashed by Ministry officials', last paragraph."

"How exactly did it go?" Ginny said. "Harry said something about spiders."

"Tonks was there off-duty and went into action as soon as it began," Sirius said heavily, "and she debriefed me late last night. A nest of Acromantula was teleported en masse by an unknown spell to the Apparition point in Stonehenge. It looks like they were dosed by a potion to make them aggressive enough to attack the Circus. They were stronger and faster than usual, too, and more pain-resistant; I blew four and a half legs off one and it didn't go down. They swarmed and tore through the outer canvas, disrupting the Extension. It was chaos inside, until someone appeared and counterattacked."

"Who was that?" Hermione asked. "I saw him, but didn't recognise him."

"Can you describe him?"

"Tall, black, had dreadlocks. He was in standard black robes which didn't fit him very well. His wand was long and pale, and he cast a spell I'd never even read about. Like a massive acid spray."

Sirius sighed. "With even a basic disguise, that could be anyone. He was obviously powerful, though."

"Did that acid hurt anyone?" Hermione asked. "There were puddles of it left over, and people lying on the ground..."

"I don't think so. It looked targeted and pretty well contained, and those people had worse problems than some skin burns. At any rate, security and Tonks rallied around him and wiped out the Acromantula, and he vanished. The Ministry's looking for him. So are we, for that matter. That's the good news.

"The bad news is that a few witnesses saw the wizard who summoned the spiders, and described him. Their collective description was 'a man with spectacles and thin red hair'."

"What," Ron said. "They think _Dad_ did it?"

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. "I mean, for one thing, red hair isn't _that_ uncommon. There have to be other men of that description in Britain, not to mention any here from overseas."

"Yeah," Fred said, "and half of them are Weasleys. Doesn't look good for Dumbledore either way; we're all friendly with him."

"It's also ridiculous because he has an alibi," Ron said. "He was here with Mum, making sure me and Ginny didn't sneak off. We played _charades_ all night."

"Not such a good alibi," Sirius said, "because the Ministry sent someone over to the Burrow last night to check, and there was no-one home, because Fred and George were at the Circus." They had the grace to look ashamed. "So he had to say he was here, at the Black Hole. Not only is it under Fidelius, not only were there no witnesses except direct family, but I can't even confirm he was there, because I was at the Circus too."

Ron slouched back in his seat. "Did anyone see you? If you vouched for him-"

"Yes," Sirius said wretchedly, "I was with a girl all night. Gigi … something. I liked her; think I'll see her again."

"You're awful," Hermione told him.

"Is Dad under arrest?" Ginny asked.

"Not yet, they don't have proof, but he's being watched too closely to do work for the Order for now. And even that isn't the worst of it. The Aurors didn't recognise the spell used to summon them, but they did work out how to trace it. Guess where they came from."

"You're joking," Ron said.

"If only. McGonagall checked last night; the Hogwarts Acromantula colony is gone."

"But hang on," Hermione said, "unless that teleport spell was much, much more powerful than anything I've ever read about before – which is possible, I suppose – whoever cast that spell would have had to do it from the Forbidden Forest. And at this time of year, no-one except staff can get in."

"Snape," Ron said immediately.

Sirius shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past him, but don't be so sure, Hermione. Pettigrew knows the secret passages onto the grounds, so Voldemort must know too. The Marauder's Map and Hogwarts' other defences should have caught whoever did it, but Voldemort knows about those too, and if anyone could defeat those, it's him."

"Are we sure Voldemort's people did do it?" Harry asked. Everyone turned to stare at him. "I mean, think about it. In this attack, if it was him, let's see, he," he began counting on his fingers, "tipped his hand to Dumbledore and Fudge, for a high-risk strike, using Acromantula he didn't have access to, on a low-value target. There wasn't anyone important to him at the Circus."

"That's how he worked last time," Sirius said. "Random terror raids; make people think they're never safe, not even if they're just out having fun, that the Ministry can't protect them."

Harry shook his head. "Everyone is forever saying he was brilliant. He wouldn't do that. He'd do random-_looking_ terror raids, but he'd prioritise high-value targets if he could. He would have made the Acromantula attack, I don't know, Hogwarts, and try to wipe out some of Dumbledore's people. And right now he doesn't even want terror; he's still pretending to be dead, remember?"

"So what do you think?" Ron asked. "That it was an accident?"

"People generally don't accidentally teleport drugged Acromantula colonies onto circuses, Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"There are evil people in the world beside Voldemort," Harry said.

"What," said George, "you think there are _two_ Dark Lords _both_ trying to take over Britain at the same time?"

Harry thought about the sacrificial rituals. "There might be."

"That's sort of plausible, now that you mention it," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Remember those Ravenclaw-coloured Death Eaters, at the High Gala?"

"Maybe that's just what You-Know-Who wants you to think," Ron said.

"If we start thinking everything that happens is just an elaborate head game by him, we'll go mad," Harry pointed out.

They sat and thought for a minute.

"Do you know how bad it was?" Hermione asked Sirius timidly.

His face hardened. "We don't have casualty lists yet. More than ten dead, fewer than a hundred, plus a lot of injuries. And severe property damage from the collapsing Extension. I don't know how Fudge thinks he can keep it quiet."

"I'll say," Fred said, lifting his splinted arm. "Don't we have anyone who knows how to fix this?"

"I think Podmore might," Sirius said.

"What happened to your stall?" Harry asked.

"Smashed to matchwood," George said. "And the last quarter of our stock exploded. We got the gold out, though. We made a loss, but it was all about market visibility anyway; we certainly got that."

"Ten people died, and you're thinking about money," Ginny snapped.

"Don't fight," Sirius said. "The next three weeks won't be fun if you do. Voldemort's moving more aggressively than we predicted; it won't be safe to leave the Fidelius. Weasleys, if you want to argue with that, tell your mother."

"I'll pass," Ron said.

"Harry, I'm not negotiating. Hermione, I know I'm not your guardian, but if you go back to your parents, you'll be a sitting target."

"Couldn't you Apparate me out, if something happened?" she asked. "I do really want to stay with them."

"How will I know? We can't spare a guard, and an owl won't exactly be timely."

Harry pulled his out purse and rummaged around in it.

"What in Merlin's name is that thing?" Fred asked.

"I said the same thing," Sirius said.

Harry found Sirius' magic mirror and gave it to Hermione. "You can use this to instantly contact Sirius," he said. "I can talk to him any time. Right?"

"You cast an Extension Charm?" Hermione asked, accepting the mirror. "How?"

"You cast it on _that_?" George asked. "Why?"

"He got it from a fan," Ginny said, sniggering. "She wrote like a six-year-old. I think it was Loony Lovegood."

"Wait," Hermione said. "Isn't Luna a year below us?"

"Never stopped Ginny," Ron said. She made an impolite gesture.

Hermione shot Harry a sceptical look.

"It needs to match your clothes, though," Fred said. He waved his wand left-handed, and Harry's shirt and jeans turned bright pink.

"Change it back," he said, trying not to laugh along with everyone else.

"Can't," Fred said. "That would be a misuse of magic."

"Couldn't you just have changed the _purse_?"

"What would poor Luna think?" Hermione asked. "On an unrelated topic, Harry, those Occlumency books you gave me had a lot of assumed knowledge, and referred to texts I don't have. Can we go up to your room and get the other two?"

"Sure," he said, and followed her out of the room. "Wait, you know where I keep my books. Why-"

"Because I want you to tell me who really sent that enchanted bag, and since you obviously want to keep it a secret, I thought it'd be polite to ask in private."

"Er. Thanks. I mean, what makes you think it wasn't Luna?"

Hermione gave him a please-don't-patronise-me look. "It may have somehow slipped the others' notice, but fourth-years don't cast enchantments. I've never even cast one, and not meaning to sound arrogant but if I can't, she can't."

"You're new to this entire not sounding arrogant thing, aren't you?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Maybe she bought it or got her father to enchant it," Harry said.

"Nowhere solvent could sell a thing like that, and Luna's father thinks his cutlery comes alive at night and attacks his lettuces."

"He could still be a great enchanter. Most wizards haven't a lick of common sense, everyone knows that."

Hermione folded her arms and assumed her most McGonagallesque expression. He sighed in defeat.

"I got it from the man who fought off the Acromantula," he said.

She gasped. "You know who he was!"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Hermione, did you ever find any stories of successful Muggle-borns?"

"No. Some who scraped livings and made minor names for themselves, but no-one truly prosperous."

"What if I told you there was a reason for that?"

"I'd ask what it was."

"It's … a dangerous thing to know," Harry said, chickening out at the last moment. "If the wrong people knew you knew..."

"You'll tell me if I learn Occlumency, then?" Hermione asked.

"I, er," Harry said. "Yeah. Two possible leaks are worse than one, right?"

"And none is best of all," Hermione said with a smile. "I'll have it mastered by September. Now I really do want those books."

"Er," Harry said, "on second thoughts, I'd actually like to hold on to them for now. I want to keep trying to study it too."

"Why don't you ask Jingo and his children to copy them?" Hermione suggested brightly. "I'm sure practising writing must be good for literacy. It'll be a useful skill when they get other jobs."

"I was just thinking that exact thing," Harry said. "Why don't you go back downstairs; I can deal with him."

"Thanks!" Hermione hugged him, kissed his cheek, and turned tail.

_So, Voldemort, what do you think?_

_About the Circus attack? Nasty piece of work. Twenty-nine dead, over three hundred wounded. And using Acromantula, too; that'll give the survivors nightmares._

_I suppose you know everything the Aurors know about it?_

_Lucius has many eyes and ears._

_Do you know who did it?_

_'The man with red hair'. But he was only the hands, not the head. My money is on Dumbledore._

_Why? What would he gain from that?_

_Well, a few preliminary observations. There are only three power players in our little struggle right now, other than the neutrals: me, Dumbledore, and Fudge. The neutrals want no part of this fight. I'm certainly not about to get involved, not when Dumbledore and Fudge are neatly battering each other to pieces, and not when they'd unite in a heartbeat if Fudge believed I was back. Fudge is hardly going to sabotage his own propaganda show._

_What if he hoped to frame Dumbledore and get him arrested?_

_I don't buy it. He would have found some opportunity which didn't hamstring his own economic recovery effort. As is, he's lucky Lucius was on hand to buy out the foreign investments._

_Giving him, and you, a controlling interest in several valuable businesses._

_What can I say? Lucius is a remarkable man. If there were a socialist revolution today, he'd be its leader tomorrow, and he'd have gotten all his property back the day after. With interest._

_The red-haired man couldn't have been Mr. Weasley, though._

_Oh?_

_He was at the Black Hole all night with his family._

_They _said_ he was. Dumbledore's a deft hand at False Memory Charms._

_It's still circumstantial. Even aside from disguises, there are plenty of redheads in Britain._

_Mm. Many of them from the extended Weasley clan, all of whom are friendly enough to Dumbledore to do him a favour. But, yes, circumstantial._

_So, _Harry replied,_ you only think it was Dumbledore by process of elimination?_

_No. He also has the best access to Acromantula, in Aragog's brood in the Forbidden Forest. The potion used to drive them into a frenzy was unlike anything I'd ever heard of, which is saying something. Specifically, it said it was probably developed in the past thirteen years by a crack Potions Professor with a good lab near a colony of Acromantula. But most important of all, Dumbledore shouldn't believe that I'm alive._

_Did it never strike you as remarkable how swiftly he leapt to the conclusion that I had been resurrected? On the shell-shocked, slurred utterance of a teenager who by all reasonable standards should have been catatonic with PTSD, and who immediately withdrew his testimony anyway? Other than that, he had only flimsy circumstantial evidence: that same teenage boy's dreams, pain in Severus' arm, Cedric..._

_A dead body is circumstantial?_

_When there's a mad Death Eater who explicitly used the other two Unforgivables that night? Yes._

_What are you saying?_

_You know how Fudge thinks Dumbledore made me up, to try to destabilise him and seize power? I think he might actually have been right._

Harry tried to mentally sketch the graph of three-way I-know-you-know.

_You revived; Dumbledore didn't know this but pretended to believe it to usurp Fudge's power; Fudge correctly guessed he was pretending, not realising that he was actually right. And Dumbledore arranged for the Circus attack to damage Fudge's administration._

_It fits._

_Snape's been spying for Dumbledore. If he's seen you..._

_He hasn't. I demoted him from semi-trusted lieutenant to untrusted when he didn't respond to my first summons; he's only seen inner circle Death Eaters, not me. But even if he had, that wouldn't change the fact that Dumbledore mobilised the Order mere hours after my revival, before Snape could have seen me or spoken with anyone who had. That means he has a motive other than stopping me._

_Unh._

_You'll get the hang of it eventually._

_Merlin, I hope not. I, er._

_Spit it out._

_I kind of told Hermione I knew who the man who fought off the Acromantula was._

_And told her all about me?_

_Not until she learns Occlumency._

_Hmm. It'll be risky, even so. If she doesn't believe us, she'll turn you in to the Order. A better idea would be if I met her myself. Dumbledore and Snape are less likely to try to use Legilimency on her than you; and that risk is worth it if it motivates her to help you more with Occlumency. Merlin knows I haven't the patience. Besides, she'll figure you out sooner or later anyway. I know her type._

_Er. You want an introduction to Hermione Granger._ Harry shook his head; he really hadn't foreseen this six months earlier. _If she doesn't believe you, there'll be another eyewitness to your return._

_There won't be. I'm handy with Memory Charms._

_And … you promise you won't hurt her or her family, no matter what she might say or do?_

_Even if she attacks me. Cross my heart and hope to die again._

… _Okay. I'll think you her address tonight; I must have something postmarked to her place in my room somewhere._

_I don't suppose you could get me Ron as well, could you? From what Wormtail said, I doubt he'll be open-minded enough to accept that Dumbledore's evil and I'm not, but it couldn't hurt to try._

_I doubt it. Not without breaking the Fidelius, and fat chance. With Hermione – I could probably sneak out and fly over if you went at night._

_Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather go in the afternoon. People always get nervous when I break into their homes at three a.m. I'm not sure why._

The next morning, Voldemort let him know that he'd won Hermione over, but not to mention it even obliquely in their letters; he suspected their mail was being intercepted. She soon made leaps and bounds in her Occlumency, and sent Harry copious notes, including a meditation training regimen, which she enthusiastically described as being 'even more relaxing than logograms'. Voldemort suggested that they could test his skill by seeing whether he could block their telepathic link, at which Harry failed magnificently.

_You are trying to keep me out, aren't you?_

_Shut up, Voldemort._

_That'd rather miss the point, wouldn't it?_

_Shut UP, Voldemort._

By September morning, Voldemort granted that he'd made a little progress and it took some effort to keep their link open when Harry concentrated, but as he pointed out, their telepathic link was weaker than eye contact.

_Until you can shut my dulcet voice out completely, it won't be safe to look Dumbledore or Snape in the eye, and even then I wouldn't chance it until I can test it more thoroughly._

_Won't that be a happy day. So you think Snape's Dumbledore's man?_

_Dumbledore does, and he's not stupid. I don't think I know anything he doesn't, so yes._

.. ... ...

It wasn't until the first of September that Harry got out of the Black Hole or saw Hermione again. They had all gone quite stir crazy in three weeks and were almost late getting to King's Cross; even Harry, who had foregone bringing his trunk in favour of just stuffing everything into his purse, had to change twice because the twins kept conjuring white lace around his robes and ribbons in his hair.

"You know the part where you both have to lug a ten stone trunk around and I don't?" he asked.

"Nope," they said in unison, and cast levitation charms. Harry grumbled.

Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks were needed to Apparate Harry, Ron and Ginny to the station in pairs; Fred and George went under their own power. Tonks had resumed her Rosie form.

"How exactly are we supposed to pass you off?" Ron asked. "Someone's bound to notice that no-one's ever seen you before."

"Tell them I'm a Hufflepuff sixth-year," she suggested. "It won't matter if none of them recognises me, because _no hablen Ingles_. I'm staying for the trip, as security."

Hermione was already on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Crookshanks curled sinuously around her legs. She was wearing her prefect's badge, looking important, and chatting with her fellow Gryffindor prefect.

"I don't believe it," Ron said, panting from his trunk.

"Hi everyone!" Hermione said, rushing up to give Harry a hug and winking at Rosie. "Neville made prefect!"

Neville puffed up a little. "Gran was so surprised," he said. "So was I, to be honest. I was sure you'd get it, Harry!"

"Who, me?" Harry said. "The thought never crossed my mind. Congratulations."

Neville looked Rosie up and only a little way down. "Uh, hi. I don't think we've met?"

"Rosie Lalor," she said, offering a hand and a smile. Neville mirrored both. "You must be Neville. Harry talks about you all the time."

"And I'm Sirius Black," Sirius said. "I used to be a mass murderer."

"Sirius," Lupin said tiredly.

"Uh," Neville agreed, caught between a pretty girl, a former professor, and an Azkaban escapee. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come on, guys," she said, "the train's about to leave."

The whistle blew to punctuate her words. Sirius and Lupin helped Ron and Neville lift their trunks onto the train, and bowed off. Moments later, the whistle blew again, and the engine started.

"So, uh?" Neville asked Rosie.

"Yeah, pretty much," she said. "I'm home-schooled; I'm only along for the ride. I'm related to Sirius; I've been hanging out with him and Harry a lot this summer."

They set off in search of an empty compartment. "Oh, yeah? That's a shame," Neville said, turning quite red. "I thought the Lalors sent their kids to Hogwarts. Isn't there one in … Gryffindor third year?"

"Yeah, think so," Rosie said glibly, "but there was … personal stuff involved."

"Ah," Neville said, and couldn't think of anything more to add.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron asked, "don't you have a trunk?"

She pulled a drawstring bag from around her neck; it was about four inches by six and flat. "This has a copy of the enchantments on Harry's purse," she said, pulling her _Standard Book of Spells_ out to demonstrate.

"I was wondering," Neville said, indicating Harry's glitterpurse. Perversely, despite how horrible it was, or maybe because of it, Harry had decided against hiding it under his robes, and had it proudly worn over head and shoulder.

_You gave a girl a more sensible bag than mine?_

_To do otherwise would have been sexist._

"Being able to carry, if not my entire library, then at least my best few hundred books, was just too convenient to pass up," Hermione said, "so I asked Harry's and my mutual friend, and she was happy to enchant it for me."

"Which mutual friend?" Neville asked.

"Few hundred?" Ron repeated dumbly.

"Well, yes, many more and it would have exceeded the Featherlight Enchantment's capacity," she said. "I want to leave a little slack in case of emergencies." Her tone took on the slightly robotic feel it had when she recited something learnt by rote. "While we were preparing Harry for the Tournament, we found a Beauxbatons girl who was so upset Fleur was named Champion – she was convinced Fleur had somehow seduced the Goblet – she helped us."

"Really?" Neville said. "Wow, that must have been a real help."

"How on Earth do you seduce a _goblet_?" Rosie asked.

"I didn't ask," Hermione said.

"What was her name?" Neville asked.

"Eponine Thénardier," Hermione said, the first female French name that sprang to her mind. "But she's usually a touch catty toward the English; you probably shouldn't write her."

_You know, if overthrowing the government doesn't work out, you could make a mint selling Extended bags._

_There's this one company called Ahava that makes a mint selling mud. I'm pretty sure they use Confundus Charms, though._

People in the compartments on either side stared at Harry. At first he thought it was because of the purse – and he was partly right about this – but eventually he remembered the Daily Prophet article where he had been painted as a drug addict.

"How can they believe I take drugs?" he asked angrily. "Can you imagine how many detentions I'd get if I were caught? Especially by Snape?"

"I thought you _did_ get a lot of detentions," Ginny pointed out. "Most of them from Snape."

"Yeah, but–"

"And you do spend an awful lot of time in the Hospital Wing, from what I heard," Rosie said, grinning. "You could easily be addicted to painkillers."

"Oh, shut up."

There was an empty cabin at the midpoint of the second carriage; it quickly became apparent that it was empty largely because the window was jammed shut. It was quite stifling, but as nowhere else would be free, they decided to accept it as a lesser evil. Neville pulled out a bag of Ice Mints and passed them round as a substitute.

"We're supposed to go," Hermione said, indicating herself and Neville. "The Head Boy and Girl want to give us instructions."

"I still can't believe I made it," Neville said, as he followed her and Crookshanks out and shut the door.

"Neither can we," Ron said. Ginny nodded.

A little later, Dean and Seamus came in and said hello, giving Harry hopeful looks.

"I heard you've improved at Potions," Seamus said.

"I don't take drugs, make them, or deal them," he said.

"Really? The Prophet said you-"

"The Prophet says things," Harry replied. "Someone put something in my glass."

Dean and Seamus exchanged knowing looks.

They stayed until Neville and Hermione came back; without more room in the cabin, they went off to hang out with Parvati and Lavender. Seamus tapped his nose and winked at Harry.

"How was it?" Ron asked.

"Simple," Hermione said in unison with Neville saying "Overwhelming." "They want us to patrol the carriages from time to time. I don't know _how_ they pick some of the prefects, though."

"I know how you feel," Ron said. Harry gently elbowed him in the ribs.

"So, I guess Malfoy's one?" he said.

Hermione nodded wearily. Crookshanks curled up on her lap comfortingly. "Not that he had much competition, with those trolls he keeps around, and those other two idiots cursing each other every week. At least that idiot harpy Pansy Parkinson didn't get it," she added, with a touch of schadenfreude.

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Who's their girl?"

"Daphne. Cold fish if ever I saw one and with a raging superiority complex, but at least she's human."

"A prefect with a superiority complex?" Ginny asked in mock horror.

"Daphne's alright, ish," Harry said. "I mean she's not _nice_ or anything, but at least she's not evil."

"Really?" Ginny asked. "I remember hearing Dad going on about the Greengrasses. I thought they were with You-Know-Who last time."

"I argued with her about this at the High Gala," Harry said. "She insists they're neutral."

"Don't they do business with Dark families?" Neville asked.

"They do business with anyone with gold. Not Light, certainly, but not outright Dark."

"Does it ever seem like we have really low standards?" Ron said. "Hooray, only one of the prefects is evil! The other's just a collaborator! At least it's not as bad as the Defence professors; their standard for success is to not be yet another Death Eater. Speaking of which, does anyone know anything about this year's one?"

"There was an Educational Decree about it," Neville said. "Gran was furious. It says the Ministry can appoint someone to fill a role if Dumbledore can't, and Fudge put one of his people. Gran thinks he's trying to take the school from Dumbledore."

"Don't worry about it," Rosie said. "She's a family friend. She's a genius."

Harry and Ron exchanged worried looks. That sort of enthusiastic praise could only herald trouble.

"The textbook doesn't look very aggressive," Hermione said. "It's mostly evasion magic."

"Evasion?" Ron asked. "What about attack spells? That's what we're going to need to take on You-Know-Who!"

"Ron Weasley, defeater of Lord Voldemort," Hermione said sceptically. Harry snorted; the others were too busy flinching.

The cabin door slid open to reveal Malfoy. Crabbe had his right flank; Goyle was on his left but behind Pansy, who was hanging off his arm. He didn't seem to notice her.

"Ah, Longbottom," he said airily. "I was looking for you. It's been _killing_ me … who on _Earth_ did you have to bribe to get that badge?"

Neville had never really had the nerve to stand up to Malfoy, certainly not with three minions giggling at him, but he glanced at Rosie to steel himself and stand up. It didn't help all that much; Malfoy, despite being an inch shorter, still managed to look down his nose at Neville.

"I d-don't know about you, but some of us don't have to use gold to get responsibility," he said.

"Oh?" Malfoy asked. "Then was it in recognition of your _stellar_ academic performance?"

"I'll have you know," Hermione said, getting up (Crookshanks hissed), "Neville came second best in the year at Herbology, behind me."

"Ah," Malfoy said, tapping the side of his nose. "The Squib subject. Maybe they didn't want the rest of Gryffindor to feel any pressure."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Neville said, but he was cracking.

"But truly," he went on apace, "how _did_ McGonagall choose who got her badges? It obviously wasn't brains, looks, or charisma."

"Maybe there just wasn't anyone good enough, so she picked names out of a hat?" Pansy suggested.

"Be fair, Pansy," Malfoy chided, "it might have just been process of elimination. I mean, next to the now-aptly-named Pothead, the most unimpressive Weasley yet, and those other losers – what were their names again? Sean and something? – he almost looks competent. Almost."

"I was just saying they might have used elimination for Slytherin, actually," Hermione said, looking pointedly at Malfoy's badge.

"I disagree," Malfoy said. "I thought Pansy had a good chance, although I fully expect Daphne will be quite competent, now that I know her a little better. And speaking of girls rising in my esteem … didn't any of you ever think it was a little strange, how a Mudblood topped our year?"

"Say that again," Neville said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Mmmudblood," Malfoy said. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll report you."

"To Professor Snape? Be my guest. Anyway, my father investigated and found a naughty little secret. Granger? Your real name is Dolohov. From a night with Dorcas Meadowes before the war. Funny old thing, life, isn't it?"

"That's preposterous," Hermione said.

Malfoy fished a bulging manila envelope from his robes and threw it to her. "Father knows some _very _good investigators. Apparently Dumbledore wanted to take you in, but couldn't find anyone who wanted a kid like you, so he Memory Charmed a pair of Muggles."

Hermione tossed it aside; Rosie took it and began reading the contents. "That's nice, but still preposterous. I'm the spitting image of my mother, I have birth and pre-natal documents, and I was blood tested for genetic abnormalities by the same doctor who tested my parents. I'm pretty sure he would have noticed if I was completely unrelated to either."

Malfoy shrugged laconically. "If you think Dumbledore couldn't or wouldn't forge those documents, you're more naïve than I gave you credit for. And as for the looks … some sort of high-powered Disfigurement Curse, maybe?"

"Get out," Ginny said.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Hmm … I'll do you later. It's important to pace oneself. On the other hand, you do give me openings _all the time_..."

"Get _out_!" she screeched, snatching her wand up.

"Careful, Sheasley, wouldn't want a detention," he said, finally turning to leave. "Oh, witches, curses, money … How was I so bewitched? I thought that she was funny … but she's a Galleon-grubbing-"

Hermione slammed the door behind him and, together with Neville, coaxed Ginny back into her seat.

"Don't let him get to you," Hermione soothed. "He's just lying to play with your head..."

"Uh, Hermione?" Rosie asked. "These … these actually look pretty authentic."

"I'm sure they do," Hermione said without interest. "Malfoy Senior probably knows the best forger in Britain."

"Probably," Rosie granted, "but even so … this would have cost a lot of gold to fake. He's got a letter from Meadowes to her mother, and a series of replies … I don't know if the handwriting's right, but it's consistent … the paper looks old enough … birth paperwork from a midwife, and a receipt for business tax deductions for natal potions, stamped by the Ministry … which is supposed to be unforgeable."

"I bet it's easy to forge it if you and your flunkies own half that Ministry," Hermione said, but she looked a little uneasy.

Harry caught her eye, touched his left forearm, and winked. She blinked, then smiled, getting the reassurance.

_You would have forged Hermione's pureblood birth papers regardless of whether I'd asked you to, wouldn't you?_

_Obviously. Her very existence undermines my followers' "philosophy". Well worth a few bribes to subvert it._

_Especially if I promised to join you for it._

_My personal best is to get payment or favours from four separate parties for something I would have done for free. That was a good day._

"Dolohov," Ron said. "Wasn't he a Death Eater?"

"In Azkaban," Rosie nodded. "I hear he was a nasty piece of work. Part of the team that killed two of your – of your mother's friends. Dorcas Meadowes was in the – was one of the people fighting You-Know-Who. I hate to think how those two met. Ugh, here's a love letter, asking him to elope with her."

Ron winced. "Changing the topic now. Harry, what did you decide about trying to work out the Animagus transformation?"

Harry bit his lip and sighed. "That I wouldn't go for it. Sirius was right: that plus Quidditch plus Occlumency would kill me. I've made barely any progress on the last, even with Hermione's help."

"It'll go a lot faster with us together," she said. "I can look over your meditation technique."

"Sounds relaxing," Ron said. "You're keeping History? I won't mind if you just copy my homework."

"Ron!" Hermione said, scandalised.

"What? Like we don't already do it from you."

Hermione set her mouth into a line.

"It's a trickle-down system. You do the work, I copy it, Seamus copies off me, and everyone left copies off him." Neville nodded earnestly.

"And I've been copying Ron's essays from the year before since eighteen months ago," Ginny said. "And two people copy off me..."

"You'll all fail your O.W.L.s!" Hermione said.

"I've passed the last four years on your notes," Ron said easily. "Besides, so what? Let the Hufflepuffs take the historian jobs. I want to get into the DMLE as an Auror."

"You need Potions for that," Hermione said.

"I want to get into the DMLE as a meat shield and get promoted to Auror for distinguished service," Ron amended.

"It doesn't work like that," Rosie said. "You need a Potions N.E.W.T., no exceptions."

"Then I'll get some other career anywhere which doesn't require History or Potions," Ron said. "There's got to be _something_."

"No offence, Ron," Harry said, "but I'd rather not copy your History homework. There's a final exam, and I don't want the fail on my transcript."

"That's … a better attitude than last year!" Hermione said, with desperate, misguided optimism.

"If you want someone to help become an Animagus with," Neville said, "I could try! I bet it'd really help with my Transfiguration marks."

"Uh, that'd be great," Ron said apprehensively. He looked around desperately; Rosie took pity on him.

"Did you hear about Penelope Clearwater?" she said. "Apparently she's disappeared."

"I'd heard she'd moved in with Percy, and moved out again a few weeks ago," Ron said. "I wonder why."

"Do you suppose You-Know-Who kidnapped her?" Ginny asked. "Maybe to blackmail Percy?"

"Why would anyone bother blackmailing him?" Ron asked dismissively. "Besides, surely it'd be more effective to do that _before_ they split up."

_Hey, Voldemort. You didn't kidnap Penelope Clearwater, did you?_

_Who?_

_A blonde girl. Recent graduate from Ravenclaw._

_Recent? Would she happen to be eighteen as of a few days ago? And is she Muggle-born?_

Harry did some mental arithmetic. _Yes, but she'd be about nineteen now. She graduated a year ago._

_Hmm. I suppose it might be a coincidence. Maybe they thought she was too weak and passed her over. Unless she married someone from an old family._

_What would it imply if she did?_

_They take the best victims they can find who won't be missed. If she had a boyfriend from a rich or otherwise respected family, they would have let her be._

Harry felt sick. He'd known her, albeit briefly. _Yes, she was living with Percy Weasley, but they had a fight._

_Nineteen is close enough to the peak to be useful. Requiescat in pace__, Clearwater._


	7. The Opening Feast

He mentally traced out the internal geometry of the carriage. There were two benches, half an inch thick, one on either wall, each about one foot by four, twenty inches above the floor and forty below the curved ceiling; there was a three foot spacing between the benches. He had the right end of the one on the left; to his left was Hermione, with Neville, Ron and Ginny opposite. Hermione had suggested that she and Neville spread out onto different carriages, so that there would be fewer containing no prefects, but he had given her a look combining puppy dog eyes with a deer in headlights, and she had caved immediately.

It was one of the worst possible environments for practising this. There was the expectant silence of having four people staring at him, and even though his eyes were shut, he could feel their gazes boring into him. The carriage jolted from the skeletal horses' motion. And Hermione was incredibly distracting. He could feel her radiating excited energy, twitching her foot, hoping to criticise or compliment his technique and go on about minutiae she'd read. His mind sketched out her geometry next: even obscured under Hogwarts' traditional shapeless black robes, he could still picture the shape of her body, the sizes and positions of her bones and the fat and muscles and skin over them; he could feel her body heat and smell the patches of sweat behind her chest and the air currents caused by her breath.

He tried to wrench his mind away and focus on Ginny opposite him, but Hermione was right next to him and her presence dominated his focus. Her scent was overpowering. It wasn't acrid, like sweat usually is, but interesting, almost sweet. He'd sometimes thought girls just smelled nicer, particularly after Quidditch sessions, although that was probably largely the fault of the Weasley twins' idiosyncratic ideas on personal hygiene.

The carriage bounced over a stone, and he bumped into the rear wall, shattering his concentration. "This is stupid," he said, rubbing his head.

"No, no!" Hermione said breathlessly, "that was really, really good! Much better than the last few tries. You were defocused; that's the first step to maintaining an Occlumency barrier!"

"My mind wasn't empty," Harry said. "It kept filling with … shapes and sensations."

"Well, it's a mind," Hermione said, "they don't just stay empty, do they?"

"Um," Ron said.

"Good minds don't just stay empty," Hermione amended. "That's why I thought that time in Divination with the crystal balls was bunk. Well, fine, as if I needed another reason; but once you clear your mind, it immediately refills with enhanced sensory perceptions. When you're learning, you need to maintain that sensation. This is like, you know with the Patronus Charm, how you said you first had to produce an incorporeal Patronus?"

"So, it's useless?" Harry asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you going out of your way to demotivate yourself? It means you can conjure a temporary shield. If Snape or – or anyone else tries to read through that, it'll give you enough time to break eye contact."

"Didn't it take you several minutes with your eyes shut to get into that state?" Ron asked. "As in, you already would have had to break eye contact?"

Hermione huffed. "Obviously, you need to get to the point where you can maintain it permanently," she admitted, "but it's definitely a big improvement, Harry."

Ginny stretched; this Occlumency business was of no real account to her. "What do you suppose the deal was with Professor Grubbly-Plank?" she asked. "Does that mean Hagrid's left?"

They tried to get a look at his cabin through the carriage windows, but the lights were off.

"He can't have," Harry said.

"When you say can't," Hermione began.

"I'm not just saying it," Harry said, searching for a rationalisation. "He would have told me. Or one of us, or _someone_."

"Do you think something might have happened to him?" Hermione asked.

Ron gave a snort of impatience. "Are you just going to sit there and list every possible bad thing that might have happened?"

"Are you just going to sit there and _ignore_ what might have?"

"Guys," Harry said dully. His head began throbbing. "Hagrid has a life outside of us. He's probably just having a drink in Hogsmeade."

"And neglecting his duty as gamekeeper?" Hermione asked sceptically.

"Maybe he's off with that Beauxbatons woman," Neville suggested. "I bet he'd ask someone Professor Grubbly-Plank to sub in for him if he didn't want to reschedule a date."

They took a moment to consider this.

"Moving on," Ginny said. "Who do you think the Quidditch Captain is this year, now that Wood's graduated?"

"I'd thought it'd be Harry, and that's why he wasn't, you know," Neville said, indicating his prefect badge. "I mean, you've been on the team for three years, you know the ropes."

"Probably one of the girls," Harry said. "They still have seniority."

"I hope we can find a decent replacement Keeper," Ginny said. "Wood's going to be a hard act to follow."

"It'll have to be someone a few years younger," Harry said. "We have four players leaving at the end of this year, Katie the year after, and me after that. We don't want to have a completely green team in a few years."

"Honestly, I always thought Wood was a bit obsessive, keeping those girls all that time," Ginny said.

"Is this because you wanted to make the team two years ago?" Harry asked shrewdly.

"He didn't even have tryouts," Ginny complained.

There was a beat, and everyone turned to Ron, who promptly turned red.

"What?" he asked.

"Normally we couldn't shut you up about Quidditch without a Silencing Charm," Hermione said, "and yet you haven't said a word."

"I just. I sort of thought. It's nothing."

"You want to try out for Keeper?" Ginny asked.

She and Harry exchanged glances, evaluating from their casual games whether he'd make it.

"You'll be great," Harry said with a smile, anticipating training and matches with his best mate.

"You'll be crushed," Ginny said. "We'd better get some practice in before the tryouts."

"Still hopeful?" Harry asked her.

"I managed to scrape together enough gold this summer to buy a proper broom," Ginny said.

"Really?" Harry asked, remembering Malfoy's donation. "What sort?"

"It's a Screech DX," she said. "Second-hand. Not top-of-the-line, sure, but it's still better than those deathtraps they give you for flying class. It might make the difference; I reckon I could match Alicia on it, once I've had a few hours' practice."

"How on Earth did you afford that?" Ron asked.

"By saving all my pocket money," she said, giving Harry a pleading look, "rather than buying lollies from the lady on the train and Honeydukes."

"Oh," Ron said.

"Really?" Hermione said. "Second-hand brooms must be quite cheap, then; I don't think Ron could have spent more than a Galleon or two on sweets over only a few years."

"Er," Ginny said. "I did have to shop around a bit."

"Better watch out, Ron," Harry said, "if she bumps Alicia off, Alicia might try for Keeper."

"Oh, wonderful," Ron said. "I'll never beat her, with three years' experience on the team."

They talked about Quidditch for the rest of the ride. Neville tried to listen in; Hermione got bored after another minute, pulled out her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells_, and began reading.

Torches lit the way from the front steps through the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall, where hovering candles' light washed over hundreds of students, the ghosts, the tables, and the teachers at the staff table. People from separate Houses gave farewell waves before heading to their respective tables; Su, the half-Chinese girl with the button nose, found Hermione and hugged her, before doing the same for a girl he vaguely recognised from Potions but had steered well clear of because she looked like a female version of Snape. Hermione blushed but waved anyway; Ginny harrumphed.

At the Gryffindor table, Ginny sat with friends from her own year, leaving the other four to sit between Colin and Dennis Creevey (Harry made sure to put Ron and Neville between them and him, as a buffer) and Parvati and Lavender.

"Evening, Hermione," Parvati said. "Had a good summer?"

"Quite good, yes, thank you."

"Must have been fun, with Harry and Ron," Parvati went on.

"And Ron's sister," Lavender added, and both collapsed into giggles; Hermione turned to glare at Ginny. Harry ignored them to scan the staff table: no Hagrid.

"He wouldn't miss the opening feast, surely," Ron said.

Harry lowered his voice. "Didn't you say Dumbledore sent him on a mission over the summer? Maybe he's still on that?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't send him away for so long," Ron replied. "Malfoy will have noticed, and he'll tell his father, who'll tell You-Know-Who."

"I'm not so certain what Dumbledore wouldn't do," Harry said. He searched the staff table and saw him immediately, looking serene and glowing with health. A rush of loathing coursed through him: seeing the smug old man, sitting there, flushed with vitality gotten from-

"Harry," Hermione whispered, touching his arm. He looked down; his silver goblet was in hand and slowly crumpling.

"Penelope," he replied.

"I know, but you mustn't – there are hundreds of people watching-"

"I don't care."

"Harry-"

_Harry, what the hell are you doing?!_

_Are you spying on me?!_

_You're radiating anger like a lighthouse. It's not hard to notice! And if can tell from five hundred miles away, don't you think that just maybe the two skilled Legilimens IN THE ROOM WITH YOU RIGHT NOW might have an inkling?_

_Wouldn't it solve a lot of problems if I just killed Dumbledore here and now?_

_Don't be a fool. You'll never hit him._

_I reckon I could run up and nail him with a Reductor before anyone reacted. _He saw Hermione looking him over with concern, but she could wait.

_And I think you'd get yourself killed at best, and more likely incapacitated and interrogated, which would compromise Hermione, let him know about that Dark bonanza you gave me, and give him a wealth of other information. After that, you'll be lucky to avoid Azkaban._

_I don't care._

_This is why I didn't use Gryffindors as spies during the last war. You don't stand a chance! This is Albus Dumbledore we're talking about. He's charged from the essences of dozens, at a bare minimum, of the best young witches and wizards of their generations. I picked a fight with him once, during the last war; he punted me through a brick wall thirty seconds in, I barely got out alive, and I spent a month in convalescence. This was with the best medical care money can buy, and that was almost twenty years of reinforcing blood sacrifice ago._

Harry looked down at his goblet again. It was buckled into a rough ellipse, twice as long as wide, but it had at last stabilised. Even Ron had noticed him by now.

_Just sit quiet, shut your eyes, and do your Occlumency meditation. If you do this, I promise, I will take him out, one way or another._

_I … I don't think I can._

_Anyone can throw a curse, Harry. The real test of character is when you can master your own nature to do what is right, even when it hurts you. Meditate._

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, then relaxed them. He sat his hands in his lap, tried to relax, and opened his eyes again.

"Sorry," he said, "I was just … distracted by something."

"This isn't the skeleton horses again, is it?" Ron asked.

"No, it's … I think Snape was trying to Legilimense me."

"I'm not sure that's a word," Hermione said.

"I don't think he can do it from this distance, though," Harry went on, "but he might have a subtler attack. Let me try to defocus again."

He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. In, out, pause. Parvati had grabbed Lavender's sleeve and was giggling at him; they probably thought he was hallucinating. A few third-years on the other side of the table were taking notice. _Voldemort, is there any sort of Occlumency shield which doesn't make you look like a crackhead?_

_Yes. The more practised one is, the less obvious one's shield. I'm good enough that mine is unnoticeable even to an active Legilimens attack and I can raise it in only a few seconds. You'll get there._

He couldn't defocus properly, there was too many distractions, but at least with his eyes shut he wasn't under direct attack and he wasn't working himself up into a rage. In, out, pause. Ignore the sniggers, and don't look at the staff table. Eventually it quieted, and there came the clomping of Professor McGonagall's boots as she set the Sorting Hat on its stool. In, out, pause. The Hat began.

_Come, listen all, in Hogwarts' open halls,_

_This hallowed space of learning._

_I welcome you to study in our walls._

_But, tick tock, the clock's not locked,_

_To the Houses now you're turning,_

_And if it's true that you are new,_

_You'll wonder where to go._

_Now I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_You'll don me now, and I will know_

_But first, some information that_

_Might interest the discerning._

_The first is wily Slytherin,_

_Of Bas'lisk-rearing fame;_

_Who takes the clev'rest purebloods in_

_The patient and those with ambition_

_Who do all that it takes to win_

_And make themselves a name._

_The second's noble Gryffindor_

_Who takes the bravest through his door_

_Who help the poor, and love the meek._

_Through hell and fire and often more_

_Gryffindors will surely seek_

_To do what's right: protect the weak._

_The third is lovely Ravenclaw,_

_The foremost scholar of the four,_

_For those who love to search and find_

_Who love their wisdom and their wit_

_Whose foremost treasure is the mind_

_Have found their House, and this is it._

_Or else there's always Hufflepuff_

_Who say you're human, that's enough_

_Deep down we're really all the same_

_E'en if you're shy and not so gruff_

_We're here to learn, that's why we came._

_So put me on, and I shall Sort,_

_But ere you do, a final thought:_

_United stand, divided fall,_

_Foes without, within, on high,_

_Heed my warning, heed my call_

_You must stand firm, you must unite,_

_And though the Houses stand apart_

_Don't separate, and do not fight_

_And 'ware the trusted, facile lie._

_So take that warning well to heart_

_For now the Sorting's due to start._

Applause broke out throughout the Hall, along with a wave of muttering. This was the first time in memory the Hat had editorialised.

"That sounded like a cross between Snoop Dogg and Dover Beach, structurally," Hermione said, impressed. "Much better than just simple four-line stanzas."

"Dogs don't sing," Parvati said.

Hermione wilted. "He's a musician my sister – you know what, never mind."

"More importantly, since when does the Sorting Hat give advice?" Harry asked.

"Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I've no idea," she said. "I don't remember anything from _Hogwarts: A History_, and there are surprisingly few books on the Hat in the library. You'd think people would be more interested."

"And it warned against trusted lies?" Ron said. "Who could that be?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged significant looks, and the whispers cut out as McGonagall shot glares down the tables. She read the first name off her student list: "Abercrombie, Euan."

A horrified-looking boy from the middle of the cluster of first-years staggered forward and stuffed the Hat on. It caught on his rather wide ears, thought for half a minute, and shouted: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Poor kid," Ron said, clapping anyway.

The line dwindled one by one until finally a Rose Zeller was Sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall collected the Hat and its stool, and Dumbledore stood. Harry immediately looked away, and instead tried to find the new Defence Professor. He scanned the staff table and found Professor Grubbly-Plank in Hagrid's seat, and one empty. She must be late.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore was saying. "Welcome all of you to Hogwarts! I beg a moment of your time for speeches and rules … but not until our marvellous Feast is demolished. Eat up!"

There was a burble of laughter, Harry's eye twitched, and food materialised across the tables. Ron set to with a will.

"Eat up, Harry," he said, indicating a plate of potato wedges that had earned his approval. "What's got you so worked up now?"

"Just Snape again," Hermione said.

Ron looked over; Snape was daintily nibbling at an ear of corn.

"What a git," he said anyway.

Harry served himself some food and began mechanically chewing. _How on Earth do you stand it?_

_I live for the day when I won't have to. For now, can you give me any useful information? Anything different from previous years?_

_I don't see the Defence Professor._

_She's supposedly one of Fudge's minions, but Lucius says he's never seen her before and only a few obviously-bribed people claim to know her. Snape gave me an overview when they had staff orientation during the summer._

_She's apparently a double agent for the Order._

_Also odd, given Snape didn't recognise her. Please let me know if you get any hints about her past. Anything else?_

_The Sorting Hat told us to unify and not listen to trusted people lying to us._

_Hmm. Perceptive little piece of millinery. I really wish I'd found a way to study it while I was Hogwarts; I'd love to know how Ravenclaw made it sapient._

_The same way you did your diary, maybe, except not evil._

… _If she used the same methods I did, then I'd REALLY like to study it. Hmm..._

_You're not thinking of stealing the Sorting Hat, are you? I think someone might notice._

_Probably. It's still worth planning, though._

_It's worth planning for something that will never happen?_

_That will _probably_ never happen_, Voldemort corrected._ I am always outnumbered and surrounded; I need every last gambit at my disposal to have a fighting chance._

There came the sound of a disturbance, and Harry looked up: one of the side doors was open, and in came what he thought for a moment was another first-year. She was about four feet high and had an odd light-footed gait reminiscent of someone playing hopscotch. Her ears were long and pointed like a goblin's and stuck out from under a hood; her robes were so shapeless and billowy he had only the vaguest idea of her body shape. She pittered up to the staff table and climbed into the vacant Defence seat, and whispered what could only be an apology to Dumbledore. He smiled and waved it aside.

"_She_'s teaching Defence?" Ron asked sceptically. "You could knock her down by closing the paper too fast."

"Don't underestimate her," Hermione said.

"Do you know her?" Parvati asked.

"No. But Fudge wouldn't have sent her if he thought she couldn't take the position," Hermione said.

Harry couldn't do more than pick at his food, and barely managed a slice of treacle tart before it all vanished. Conversations were cut off, as people turned to watch Dumbledore. Harry instead focused on the little elfin woman. She finally took her hood off, revealing short, curly blonde hair; when she wasn't moving around, her robes stopped flying up, revealing her to be slim.

"Now that we have been properly fed, I must detain you from your dormitories for the usual start-of-year praddle," Dumbledore said. Harry felt himself tense up at the feigned geniality of it, shut his eyes, and tried and failed to relax. "First-years should know that the Forbidden Forest is correctly named, and that as there is no Bidden Forest, it is generally wise to avoid the edges of the grounds altogether.

"We have had two additions to staff this year. The first is the returning Professor Grubbly-Plank, who I am pleased to announce shall teach Care of Magical Creatures." In, out, pause. "I am equally pleased to present Professor Morgaine Llywarch, who shall teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

There was a break for some weak applause. Harry frowned: Dumbledore hadn't mentioned Hagrid at all. So he was trying to draw attention away from him...

"The caretaker, Mr. Filch, has insisted I remind you that magic is forbidden between classes, as are thrown Quaffles, anything bought in or near Zonko's, and a selection of other toys and assorted items and activities, maintained on an inclusive list on his door, which I'm sure everyone shall check.

"For first-years, your prefects shall hold orientation sessions over the weekend; I urge you to attend, as Hogwarts can sometimes prove difficult to navigate for newcomers. They shall go over the rules more thoroughly. I also remind you that first-years are not generally allowed their own broomsticks. For all others, I urge you to take this opportunity to make your new House-mates feel welcome, and to complete any essays you may have overlooked over the summer.

"Quidditch team tryouts will be posted on the notice boards in your common rooms. For all other information, ask your prefects or Heads of House, who will be only too happy to help."

Snape frowned and shook his head forbiddingly, glaring out over Slytherin. For that matter, Malfoy didn't look like the epitome of helpfulness, and Daphne had Dumbledore fixed with an arctic stare.

"And with that taken care of, I declare the Feast concluded. Nighty-night!"

"Harry," Hermione said. "It's over. It's okay."

In, out, pause. "Yeah. Yeah." He pushed his chair out and got up.

"First-years!" Hermione called. "This way, please, this way to Gryffindor Tower!"

"Oh, right," Neville said, then, in an undertone, "Can you lead? I always get lost on Fridays."

A tall black girl pushed through the gathering crowd of first-years to Harry and tapped his shoulder.

"Hi, Angelina," he said.

"Hey, Harry," she said. "Can we talk outside for a bit?"

"Go on ahead," he told his yearmates, and followed Angelina outside and into a secret passage behind a tapestry of Phyllis the Pyromaniac. "So, what's up?"

"Are the papers right?" she asked.

He thought back over the three papers and their patchy, intermittent stories. "Er. About what?"

"Have you been taking C-88," she said impatiently. He stared. "Harry, this is serious! I'm the new Quidditch Captain, and if one of our best players is going to be tripping during practice-"

"You _believed_ that waste of tree? Angelina, we've been on the team together for _three years_ and you haven't seen me so much as drink coffee, and now you're asking me _this_?"

"It's been more than a year," she replied seriously. "You might have; I mean, everyone who starts starts sometime, right?"

"No, Angelina, no I have not been taking C-88. Someone spiked my drink at the High Gala; I haven't touched it before or since and I'm not going to."

She sighed in relief. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I mean, I already need to find a replacement for Oliver; I'd hate to have to replace you too. It'll be hard enough beating Slytherin; they still have those Nimbus Two Thousand And Ones."

"And seven players who can't fly," Harry said. "When are we having tryouts?"

"As soon as I can book the pitch. I'll post it on the notice boards and try to find you. Mind you're there; I want the entire team there, to see if the new players fit in, and a second opinion couldn't hurt."

"New players, plural?"

"I'm a fan of having reserves. We've lost games in the past because Wood never had enough."

He thought back to their matches with Hufflepuff in third year, which probably didn't count, and Ravenclaw in first, which did. "Fair point."

"Also … what's with the man-bag?"

.. ... ...

It wasn't until after lunch on Saturday that Harry and Hermione got some time apart from everyone else, in his dorm. He'd been wanting to talk to someone, anyone, about Voldemort since June, and this was his first opportunity.

"So, how did your conversation with him go?" Harry asked.

"It was surreal," Hermione said. "I just got back with some groceries, and he was in our living room with Tess, having tea and describing Hippogriffs for her to draw. Apparently he'd told her he was a friend of mine, and she believed him. I didn't recognise him but he looks rather alarming and I panicked a little, but I couldn't very well leave him with my sister, so I asked him what he wanted, and we talked and he told me about the sacrificial rituals." She shivered. "I keep thinking about our old prefects. Penelope wasn't the only Muggle-born."

He drew her into a hug. "I can't stand the waiting," he said. "Last night, Voldemort told me not to attack Dumbledore, but I don't know if I'll be able to manage for the entire year."

"Voldemort told me about your telepathic link," Hermione said, "but I don't get it. Why would you have that? He supposedly hit you with a stray Killing Curse and used your blood for resurrection; those should link your bodies, not your souls."

"I don't know, but it's been dead useful. We've been able to keep in contact much better than by letters, and it doesn't seem interceptable."

Hermione laughed. "That's such a you response."

"Hmm?"

"'Who cares how it works? It does something; let's worry about that'. Whereas I'm agonising over its theoretical justification and not even thinking about how it can be useful."

Harry tickled her; she shrieked and fell backward onto his bed. "So what do we do now? If we attack him outright, we'll be exposed."

Hermione adjusted her skirt. "So we keep our covers, study like model students, and wait for the signal. And to do that, we need to polish your Occlumency shields. And mine, but I'm a lower priority since I don't think Snape is as likely to try to read my mind."

"And that's such a you response," he replied, "let's spend the weekend doing extra homework!"

This time she tickled him, but he was a boy and had the advantage of three years' Quidditch: he flipped and pinned her easily.

"You know, Ginny already has the entire school thinking I spent half the summer ravishing you," she said. "It would look bad if someone walked in now."

"_Th__i__s_ is what you don't want people to see? A discussion about having Voldemort around for tea is fine, but this is where you draw the line?"

She wriggled, and he let her up. "When it was just Skeeter, I could ignore it, but this is Ginny. She was – is – a friend, you know? It does bother me. I can't imagine what I was thinking when I told her; normally I'd take that sort of thing to the grave."

"That sort of thing? You mean there's more?"

She poked him in the stomach. "Yes, I do have a life outside of you, and no, you're never hearing a word of it. And I thought we were working on your Occlumency. Shut your eyes, in-out-pause, and don't forget your posture."

He lay back and breathed; Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor and began playing with her hair. _Voldemort, can you test my Occlumency in a few minutes?_

_Sure, it's not like I'm busy plotting the overthrow of the Ministry o__r__ anything._

The room was circular with a diameter of about ten yards. At regular intervals were five large beds; most of the blankets were mussed. Four chests lay at the feet of the other beds; Harry's purse he kept across his chest, fastened firmly shut. Bedside tables had bits of half-finished summer homework. Between Neville's and Seamus' beds was the shut doorway to the stairwell. The room was empty of people save himself and the one sitting against his bed frame, whose breathing matched his own. Outside came the excited voices of students from all four Houses playing a casual game of Quidditch, as well as birdsong and some people just enjoying the sunshine. He could feel the heat of the patches of sunlight that hit the carpet four yards away; Hermione's body heat shone on him like a beacon.

… _in Spain … ly on the …_

_I blocked half of it!_ Harry excitedly thought back.

_I thought Shaw dialogue would hurry you up. You have the general idea; from here, it's just a question of getting it second nature so it can stand up to a proper attack. Keep on practising, and remember to keep your guard up even after you think the attack is over._

"Apparently this is working," Harry said, trying to keep the feeling of total awareness and lack of distraction while speaking. "How does thinking work? You're supposed to clear your mind, but when you need to think about stuff, won't that just fill it back up again?"

"No," Hermione said, "because being vacant-minded isn't exactly what you want. You want control over your mind; this is easiest to achieve by clearing it of all thoughts, gaining perfect control over autonomous perceptions, then adding sight and higher-order thoughts back in under controlled conditions. A Master Occlumens doesn't, theoretically, need to clear his or her mind at all; it just helps."

"You're doing it even while explaining its theory perfectly, aren't you," Harry said.

"Yes. Don't let your spatial awareness go. One of Voldemort's books suggested trying to dance blindfolded to train that up."

"Bad idea. We'll just bash into one another."

"Stop and get your shield back up."

Harry held the thought, inhaled, exhaled, paused, and resumed. "I don't think I can keep my spatial awareness working well enough to avoid hitting you or anything else without vision."

"Practise, Harry."

.. ... ...

By Monday, he could block out about two thirds of Voldemort's mental dialogue when he concentrated, which, as Voldemort said, was a start, but still not enough to risk a confrontation with Snape. He sighed and waited for Ron and Hermione to go down to breakfast.

A few corridors from the Great Hall, they found Neville, surrounded by a mob of Slytherins practising hexes. Malfoy, of course, was the leader, and was trying to coax Daphne into joining in. Pansy, Millicent, another girl, Crabbe and Goyle were with them.

"Come on, it's fun," Malfoy said.

"It's banal," Daphne said, arms crossed and eyes rolled.

"You've never lived until you've jinxed Longbottom," he said. "It's like good food, good wine and good sex. You need to try them all at least once."

"Perhaps, but I have no intention of trying any of them with you," she replied.

"Will you lay off him?" Harry said, as he and Ron interposed themselves between Neville and his tormentors; Hermione cast the counter-charms. "Has he ever done anything to you?"

"Thanks," Neville muttered.

"It's like with Hufflepuff," Malfoy said. "It's not that I _hate_ them; it's just that they're such soft, appealing targets. Does the wolf hate the lamb?"

"Sod off," Ron answered.

"Insulting a prefect?" Malfoy asked, quirking an eyebrow. "You don't want a detention…"

"You can't do anything," Hermione said. "Report, and I'll counter."

They all turned to Daphne, who sighed in exasperation.

"This is beneath me," she said.

"Daph," Malfoy began.

"I think 'Greengrass' will do fine," she said.

There came the sound of marching feet; they turned to see Fred and George Weasley, walking in step. Without breaking stride, each drew their wand on Malfoy; his robes turned hot pink and he flew into the air with a yelp as though hoisted from the ankle by a troll.

Harry, Ron and Hermione laughed; Neville chuckled weakly, and even Daphne swallowed a snigger.

"I think I'm really getting the hang of Recolorations," Fred said brightly.

Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward menacingly; Daphne drew her wand and it gave a sound like a firecracker.

"Am I the only one," she said, "who remembers the part where there are _four prefects_ here and it's the _very first day of classes_? So help me if you cretins cost me my badge, but _none of you has ever seen me angry_." And she turned tail and stalked off.

"_Liberacorpus_," George said, dropping Malfoy on his head.

Harry stared the remaining Slytherins down, but the fight seemed to have gone out of them, and they walked off without further complaint.

"Thanks for that," Neville said.

"No worries," Fred said.

"All part of our Git Levitation Service," George said.

"Why don't you stand up for yourself?" Hermione said. "You're a prefect now, you need to exert some authority."

"I don't know what I was thinking, accepting that badge," Neville said. "Daphne got hers partly because she's, you know, important, in society, and Malfoy said they probably only offered it to me so Gryffindor would have someone to try to match."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said. "Malfoy's just being a git."

"Is it?" Neville asked, turning tortured eyes on him. "Is it really? Because I can't think of a single other reason why I might get picked rather than you or Ron!"

Harry cast around: he couldn't think of one either. "Neville. You once told me you thought you should be in Hufflepuff, but the Hat Sorted you in here. Why?"

"Because it's just a hat?" Neville suggested.

"Because it saw, deep within you, the potential for courage," Harry ad-libbed. "So the next time you see Malfoy, you stand up for yourself and Gryffindor, prove the Hat and Professor McGonagall and everyone else who believes in you right, and tell those slimy snakes what's what!"

The Weasleys cheered; Hermione frowned.

"Snakes aren't slimy, Harry, those are slugs," she said.

"Tomayto, tomahto," Fred said, and he and his twin went off to sit with some friends at the Gryffindor table.

Among the fifth-years and a few others, Lavender was the centre of attention; she had a small wireless radio, playing teeny wizard pop music. The rest of their year was clustered around as she showed it off.

"I got it for my birthday," she said. "It can tune into international stations and even Muggle channels, when it's outside Hogwarts." Parvati turned the tuning dial experimentally.

"Crikey, that's a lot of spiders!" said the radio, in a thick accent.

A shadow fell over them: McGonagall, looking severe and with a bundle of timetables in hand.

"Miss Brown," she said. "That device is bothering your classmates."

"No no, it's fine," various people insisted.

"Oh, please, Professor," Lavender said. "I just got it for my birthday. I can turn it right down, see?" And she lowered the volume until it was barely audible under the babble of conversations around the Hall.

"Hmm," McGonagall said. "See it stays that way. It will not, of course, accompany you in classes." And she handed out the timetables.

"Guess we get to find out about Llywarch soon enough," Ron said, reading his: Monday began with a DADA double, followed by a free, Charms, and double History.

"Do you think she might be part goblin?" Harry asked. "Those ears..."

"Not ugly enough," Ron said. "Maybe a pixie?"


	8. In Which Snape Awards a Point

The Defence classroom contained half a dozen Ravenclaws when they reached it; apparently it was a shared class this year. The others and the Gryffindors filtered in slowly, and eventually the first bell rang, signalling the start of class.

"Does anyone know where Llywarch is?" Dean asked, looking around.

"You'd think she'd be on time to her first class," Padma Patil said.

"I saw her at breakfast," Anthony Goldstein said, "so she isn't sick."

"Maybe she can't find it," Neville said. "I barely could, and I've been coming here for four years."

The Ravenclaws exchanged amused looks. "Are you Neville Longbottom?" asked one boy with short, curly brown hair; Neville nodded. "Kevin Entwhistle. Tracey's mentioned you. Tracey Davis? From your Potions class?"

"Oh," Neville said, blushing, "er, yes. Right."

"You're friends with a Slytherin?" Ron asked.

"Well, yeah," Kevin said. "Why not? Ravenclaws and Slytherins usually get on pretty well."

"Aren't you a Muggle-born?" Parvati asked.

"Tracey isn't from a Death Eating family, if that's what you're asking," Kevin said. "Heck, she's had three brothers in Gryffindor."

"But she isn't," Ron pressed.

"Leave her alone," said Su, who was next to Kevin. "She's not here to defend herself, after all."

"Er," said Anthony, clearly looking to defuse the argument, "Maybe Llywarch realised the Defence professors all get bumped off, and left."

"And maybe you're all blind," said Professor Llywarch. They all jumped. She was sitting cross-legged on the teacher's desk, wearing a dark grey cloak the exact shade of the blackboard behind her with the hood up and a grey mask; possibly with the aid of a minor illusion, the camouflage was almost perfect. Her voice was mocking and very high-pitched. "Lesson number one is to pay attention to your surroundings. Lesson number two is that concealment is better than defence. If you'd been enemies, I could have escaped easily.

"Anyway, hello, all, so glad you could make it to Defence Against the Dark Arts." She put the mask into her robes and waved her hand at the board, and the subject name and hers appeared on it. Harry was impressed: fine motor wandless magic was hard. "I'm an intelligence officer from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; my curriculum is based around those mechanics that I've used so efficiently in my own career." Harry blinked at the malapropisms, but she pressed on.

"This is, of course, your O.W.L. year, and my job is to teach you some measurement of Defence in the hopes of helping you pass your O.W.L.s, but also enough that in case of emergence, you will actually be able to defend yourselves. This will be your hardest subject this year! Not only do you have to learn all this, but you have to learn it without a groundage from previous years. But it's also your most important!

"Now, there are three generalist categories of defensive magic: Flight, Concealment, and Last Gasp." She waved her wand and the words appeared on the blackboard, making her stand out much more. "Shields, evasion and so on. The year will be divided into one unit on each, plus one on revision."

"What?" Ron said under his breath.

"Weasley?" Professor Llywarch asked.

"Er," he dithered, plainly not having expected to be called upon, but unwilling to back down. "What about defensive jinxes and so on?"

"You'll learn that in Counterattacking Against the Dark Arts," said Professor Llywarch. "Oh, whoops! _That's_ not a subject!"

"You're going to teach Defence without giving us any magic for subduing Dark wizards?" Ron asked. "What use is that?"

"All the use in the world, unless you plan on going out and finding a Dark wizard to subjugate," the Professor replied. "You aren't, are you? If you wait and make it into the DMLE combat wing first, you can get paid for doing that."

Ron gave Harry a pleading look. Harry shook his head.

"But, since you ask, I suppose that means a demonstration is in order," Professor Llywarch went on. "I'll give you all sixty seconds. If any of you can hit me with a Knockback Jinx by then, I'll award both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw thirty points. I'm not allowed to shield or return fire. Sounds fair? Ready? Set? Go."

The class all raised their wands; she waved at the windows with one hand, and they all slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness. With her dark cloak against the blackboard, Professor Llywarch was completely invisible.

"_Flipendo_!" Neville said anyway.

"Ow!" Anthony said. "Longbottom, I'm _behind_ you! Learn to aim!"

"Sorry!"

"_Lumos_," Hermione said, pointing at the Professor. She was dead.

Harry magicked the windows back open; most of the class crowded around the teacher's desk for a better look. She was stretched out on her back, with a peaceful expression and her eyes shut. She might have died in her sleep.

"Is – is she-?" said one of the Ravenclaw girls.

"How on _Earth_?" said Kevin.

"Bloody hell, Neville," Seamus said. "You've killed her. Term hasn't even been on for twenty-four hours yet, and the Defence Professor is already dead."

Neville just stared, shaking.

Ron stepped forward and prodded the body. Hermione took its pulse.

"Nothing," she said. "She's … really cold … she should still be warm, shouldn't she?"

"I don't see any trauma," said Anthony. "Did you accidentally cast a Killing Curse?"

"Maybe something internal was ruptured?" said Su. She climbed onto the desk and lifted an eyelid. "No blood in her sclera…"

"And that's sixty seconds." The real Llywarch hopped up from behind her desk. "Courtesy of a Body Double Potion. It's N.E.W.T.-level and a pain to brew, but an excellent prop for faking one's own death. I'll give one point to Gryffindor for Hermione realising it was too cold. That counts as a Last Gasp tactic, by the way, and demonstrates why evasion is better than fighting: I couldn't possibly have fought my way through eighteen of you. Actual fighting is an absolute last resort against Dark wizards.

"Now obviously, Ministry policy is that there are no noteworthy Dark wizards currently at large" Ron grumbled "and while they do crop up from time to time, the Hit Wizard corps is quite able to deal with them. However, the risk of running into one, or more realistically a Dark creature, does exist, and this subject is intended to give you a chance in that event. So, who can tell me what the best defence is?"

"Being hidden?" Terry Boot guessed, after a pause.

"Stone cold wrong!" Professor Llywarch said cheerfully. "It's to be somewhere else. Leading us into the first unit, Flight. This is probably the most generally useful part of this course, because being able to move quickly isn't only useful in defence. In particular, Project Number One is learning how to Apparate!"

There was a general murmur of approval. Hermione's hand rose.

"Hermione?" Professor Llywarch called.

"Aren't we underage for that?"

"For a full licence, yes, but for superficial learning and a special provincial licence, no. You'll only be allowed to Apparate distances of up to ten miles, but for Defence purposes that's pretty much always going to be more than enough. So! Because it'll look bad on my CV if any of my students Splinches during my first lesson because they tried to Apparate without knowing safety protocols" some of the students exchanged rueful smiles, possibly thinking of Hagrid's first lesson "first we get to learn some theory!" she said, giving a sarcastic cheer. "Hooraaay! Now, Apparition is usually taught with the three D's, and our first lecture is about the effect of each, and what can go wrong if any is not performed correctly..."

After the hour-and-a-half lecture, they went off to the library to begin reading the chapter she'd assigned, except Hermione and the Ravenclaws, who had Arithmancy.

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked.

"They're a bunch of smug, insufferable gits," Ron said. "Oh, you meant Professor Llywarch! Well, it was kind of creepy the way she gave the entire class sitting on her own dead body, and I'd rather we had Lupin back … but at least she's better than Lockhart, or another Death Eater."

.. ... ...

Their first Care of Magical Creatures class was held the next afternoon, by Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry asked in an undertone, as no-one had seen hide nor hair of the man that term.

"Haven't a clue," the Professor replied, and hurried over to get Neville's Bowtruckle to stop slashing at him.

"What d'you think the odds are the idiot's gotten himself injured?" Malfoy asked softly.

"Lower than the odds you will be in the next thirty seconds," replied Harry.

"Maybe he hasn't," Malfoy conceded. "Maybe he's just gotten _lost_. That seems likelier. Pretty hard place to find, Hogwarts."

Harry shoulder-checked Malfoy and took his time walking over to Ron and Hermione, pretending to be deep in thought. _Voldemort, if Malfoy were to start dropping hints about Hagrid, how likely would it be that he knew what he was talking about?_

_Draco Malfoy? Either __about __zero__, or his father and I need another chat. By all accounts he's a scatterbrained blabbermouth, __so I blanket forbade Lucius or anyone else from telling him anything about my work._

_The accounts are right. So where Hagrid is is related to you somehow?_

_One of my envoys to the giants reported that he's been seen near them. Dumbledore probably figured that as a half-giant, he'd be well-placed to try to win them over to his side._

_So he's okay?_

_No promises. My men haven't tangled with him, yet, but giants can be … rambunctious._

"I wish Hagrid were back," Harry said at the end of the class.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

"Yes," Hermione said, sounding slightly less than wholly sincere.

Harry and Ron turned to round on her, but luckily Neville walked up.

"Hi," he said. "That was a good lesson, don't you think?"

"Not as good as Hagrid," Harry said loyally. Ron and Hermione nodded, the latter with a touch of reluctance.

"Uh," Neville said, clearly remembering their previous year in vivid detail. "Right. Look, Ron, you know how we were going to try Animagus transformations together?"

"Yes?" Ron said apprehensively, scanning Neville's body for defects.

"I read through the first of those notes you lent me, and I think I know how to get started," he said. "Could we try to work on that tonight, after dinner?"

"Yeah, okay," said Ron. "Are you?" he added to Harry. "Last chance?"

"I have four assignments due already," Harry said. "I won't be able to keep up. Sorry. I'd like to come and watch, though."

"Hermione?" Neville asked hopefully.

"Not after third year," she said. "Let me know how it goes, though, would you?"

So after dinner, Neville led Harry and Ron downstairs, into an empty potions lab in the dungeons, and pulled his supplies out of his bag.

"According to the notes you gave me," he said, "supposedly you need to know what something Black calls your intrinsic animal is. That's what your form looks like."

"I suppose that would be your Patronus' form?" Harry guessed.

Neville shrugged. "He didn't say anything about that. It might be. Anyway, that's not very helpful, since neither Ron nor I can cast a Patronus. There are a few ways to find out what it is, but the easiest is a potion Black has written down."

Harry and Ron exchanged nervous looks at the thought of Neville and homebrew potions without an adult watching to Vanish it and resuscitate them if things went bad.

"What are the other ways?" Harry asked.

"There's a ritual, except you have to be" Neville's voice dropped forty decibels for the word "naked, to do it, and there's some cross of Transfiguration and Charms which looks dangerous." He handed over a piece of parchment; on it in Sirius' handwriting were several lines of dense Arithmantic equations, and a note reading _poss risk of perm brain damage – expt on someone expendable (Snape?__)_. "Both of those look N.E.W.T. level, but the potion looks about O.W.L. standard."

"Er," said Harry.

"You know what," Ron said, "we're in this together. We'll brew it together and if we double-check each other's work, we won't make any mistakes."

"That sounds great," Neville said.

"Also, my hands are steadier," Ron said. "I should do the stirring. You can prepare the ingredients."

Harry opened the door for ventilation and stood well back, but without Snape breathing down their necks, Ron and Neville did quite well for themselves. It was a high-intensity potion, requiring constant stirring and raising and lowering of temperature, and adding small quantities of ingredients at irregular intervals, but they kept focused and in half an hour they were done.

"It's supposed to be a lot like cheese," Neville said, re-reading Sirius' notes. "It should smell like it, be ochre, and have a viscosity of eight to eleven psys. What's that again?"

"A bit runnier than honey, I think," said Harry.

Ron prodded the inside of the cauldron with the potion stirrer. Inside were what looked like chunks of grey styrofoam floating in cooking oil; one of the chunks disintegrated at the stirrer's touch.

"…" said Ron.

"Today's experiment: failed," said Harry.

.. ... ...

When the class finished filing into Snape's room on Wednesday, Snape stepped out from behind the door and shut it with a gentle click. The class was completely silent as he softly padded around to behind his desk and gazed over them icily.

"I think it appropriate to remind you," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "that next June you shall sit an important examination, during which you shall prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of you undoubtedly are," his eyes flicked to Neville, "I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L.s, or suffer my … displeasure," and then to Ron, who shifted uncomfortably. "After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying under me." He looked at Harry, who deliberately looked past him, at what looked like some sort of pickled foetus. "I take only the best into my N.E.W.T. class, which means that some of us will certainly be parting."

His eyes next landed on Hermione, who was on Harry's left. "Roll call. Brown."

Lavender started. Snape had called attendance exactly once, in their very first lesson, which had been enough for him to memorise all their faces and psychological weaknesses. "H – Here, sir."

"Bulstrode."

"Here," said the heavy-set girl.

"Crabbe."

"Here." On second thoughts, Millicent Bulstrode and Crabbe looked fairly similar.

"Davis."

The Snape-looking girl brushed her long, greasy hair behind her ears, out of her eyes. "Present, sir."

"Dolohov."

Malfoy chuckled. Hermione's right eye twitched. The rest of Malfoy's gang sniggered; the other Gryffindors glowered. The only exceptions were Neville, who looked at his thumbs, Daphne, who looked indifferent, and Davis, who rolled her eyes in boredom.

"Her name's Granger," Harry snapped reflexively, then he cursed himself.

Snape glared at him; he blinked, looked down, exhaled, and tried to resume that feeling of being entirely aware of his own thought processes. There was an odd itchy feeling behind his eyes; he focused on his mind, and on his focus, and on his focus of his focus…

"See me after class, Potter," Snape said abruptly. "Finnegan."

When he was done with the roll call, Snape set them to brewing the Draught of Peace, a notoriously twisty potion with over a dozen lines of instructions. Of course, Snape's idea of a single line typically included five separate atomic actions, and the total was something like seventy specific actions.

_Voldemort, Snape tried to Legilimise me._

_That's not actually a word. What happened?_

_I think I blocked him, but he wants to see me after class._

_Just before then, rub a few droplets of two-power tagric acid in your eyes and plead hospital wing._

_Acid? Won't that blind me?_

_It's weak and dilute, so no, but tagrus is a potent irritant and lachrymator._

_A what?_

_Just do it._

"Your potion … should … be giving off a light silver vapour," Snape said toward the end of class, pausing to cast an unimpressed look around the room, which was full of choking varicoloured smoke.

Harry had been concentrating on his thoughts throughout the class and had gone slower than usual, and he was behind everyone else, but he thought he hadn't made any mistakes yet; his potion looked mostly as Hermione's had ten minutes earlier. Most of the others weren't so lucky, though. Ron's kept bursting into flames, although he quickly put it out each time with pitchers of water. Parvati was having trouble pulling her stirrer out of a substance that looked like tar and smelled like bacon. Even Malfoy's potion was oscillating between red and yellow and bubbling ominously, despite Malfoy having put the fire beneath it out.

Snape came to provide destructive criticism to the Gryffindors. Hermione's work was perfect; he passed it over without a word to look at Ron's at, unfortunately, the exact moment it decided to shoot up another gout of flame.

"Weasley…" he began, then decided against it and just shook his head in despair, before turning to Harry's potion. "Potter. Feeling lethargic, are we?"

Harry brushed the back of his knuckles over his vial of dilute tagric acid, then adjusted his glasses. "I've been double-checking everything before-"

He doubled over, and a jet of water squirted out of one eye.

"Idiot!" Snape snapped. "Never leave jars of anything dangerous open; ten points from Gryffindor for the safety infraction. Get to the infirmary, now."

"I should go with-" Ron began.

"You are in no position to be missing any of this class. Dolohov, escort him."

Silently, Hermione took Harry's hand and led him from the dungeons, him spattering pressurised tears along the way. "You used tagric acid to get out of him using Legilimency on you. That was clever, but he'll just try it again tomorrow. Do you think your Occlumency will be much better by then?"

"I'll think of something. Why do you let him get away with calling you that?"

"Because he'll take points away if I argue?" Hermione suggested. "I thought it was your idea."

"No, it was – our mutual friend. But I didn't realise it would be like this. It's – disrespectful of your parents, to call you after some murdering lunatic Death Eater, rather than – well, I quite liked your father."

"So do I, Harry. But if I lost my temper every time a Slytherin was disrespectful, I'd be an emotional wreck."

Madame Pomfrey washed his eyes out, and he was rehydrated and fine by the end of classes. None of the other teachers called Hermione Dolohov, of course, and Harry calmed down soon enough. Much to Hermione's and Voldemort's irritation, though, he let Ron talk him into getting some flying in before the Gryffindor team tryouts.

"You have three items due for tomorrow you haven't finished yet," Hermione nagged.

_Perfectly reasonable. Helping that idiot make a school team is far more important than protecting your mind from being read by __Snape tomorrow__._

"You'll never be able to finish them if you spend all night flying."

_I'm sure these little t__ête-à-__t__êtes won't be near the forefront of your mind. He'll probably bypass them and only notice minutiae, like when you stole a bag of cursed artefacts from his boss __and gave them to his nemesis__._

"And this is our O.W.L. year, we all have to stop slacking off and really apply ourselves."

_I know, why don't you ask Snape for Occlumency lessons?_

"This'll matter more than the last four years put together for our futures."

_I'm sure he'll be happy to help._

"Will both of you shut up!" Harry said.

"What?" Ron said. "I thought you agreed with me."

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked, catching sight of them.

"Going flying," Harry said. "Ron wants a little practice before tryouts."

"Ooh, let me get my Screech and I'll be right back," Ginny said. "If you want to try Keeping, you'll need at least two opponents Chasing, right?"

The Firebolt rather unbalanced things, because Harry could fly rings around Ginny's Screech on it, let alone Ron's inherited Deluge, and after his third easy goal, he swapped brooms with Ron. Harry could barely keep aloft after that, so it mostly turned into a duel between siblings, in which, with the Firebolt, Ron held the upper hand. They kept at it for half an hour while impressed Gryffindor fliers gathered at the edge of the pitch and spectators in the stands. Eventually Angelina waved them down. In addition to the crowd of about fifteen prospective players were the Weasley twins and the other two Chasers.

"I'm Angelina Johnson, the Captain. Consider that a demonstration," she said, "from Harry Potter, our Seeker, and – Ron and Ginny, was it? – Weasley, who I assume are trying out too? Here's the deal. The only empty position right now is Keeper. However, I'm not guaranteeing old players will stay on the team, and I want a reserve for all four positions. I'm not starting off favouring anyone; everyone has a chance, as long as you can fly and work in a team.

"Let's get to it. First, I want everyone to mount their brooms and hover at the edges of the pitch."

She got them to warm up with a few laps of the stadium and weeded out three people who crashed. This perfunctory filter done with, she moved on to the actual position try outs, beginning with Seeker, presumably because that would be the easiest to decide. Only three people tried against Harry: Ginny and two younger students. Angelina loosed a Bludger, flew around the pitch with a bag of golf balls, and threw the balls in all directions; Harry caught four-fifths of them, Ginny caught almost all the rest, and the third-year boy caught one. The fourth-year girl, something Vane, took the Bludger to her gut, and only Fred's prompt levitation charm kept her from needing the hospital wing.

"No surprises there," Angelina said, then, to the two younger students, "Sorry, guys, but Harry's _good_. Right, Harry stays on as Seeker; Ginny Weasley is reserve."

"Uh, actually," Ginny said, "I'd rather try for Chaser."

Angelina frowned. If Harry was ever knocked out, Ginny was clearly their only hope. "Well … we'll see how you do in that, then. Chasing trials, now."

Eight people, besides Katie and Alicia (Angelina ruled that the Captain couldn't be rolled from her own position), tried for the positions. Angelina set them into groups of five, passing Quaffles between each other while avoiding the Bludger, and then played Keeper and got them to try passing her. Each of Katie, Alicia and Ginny managed to score against her consistently, although she blocked most of their rivals' shots.

"Okay, I can't tell which of you should be reserve," Angelina said at length, "so we're going to merge this with the Beaters' trial. Everyone who wants to try for Beater, get up here, now. Harry, let the other Bludger out, would you? Chasers, try to score past me again. Beaters, try to hit one of them. Fred, George, don't you dare go easy on any of them."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred.

"Sorry, girls," George said, and belted one Bludger at Ginny, who clumsily dodged by losing height, and made a gesture which most referees would award penalties against.

Even with five other would-be Beaters, the twins kept tight control of the Bludgers, and eventually broke Alicia's attack, making her fumble the throw and miss the hoops.

"Good showing," Angelina said, after the Bludgers were put away. "Ginny Weasley and Katie Bell are Chasers with me, Alicia is reserve."

"Blast," Alicia said sadly.

"That was close, though; I might revise that after a few practices. Fred and George stay on as Beaters, with" she hesitated for a moment "Jack Sloper as reserve."

Fred flew closer. "Hey, Angelina? I think we have a spy." He paused to deflect the remaining Bludger. "The cute blonde in the stands, sitting away from anyone else? I'm pretty sure she's a Slytherin."

Harry looked over. "That's Daphne Greengrass," he said in surprise. "She's in my year. Yes she's a Slytherin, but … I don't think she's a spy. I … don't think it would be her style."

"She's been staring at me for the past five minutes," Fred said.

Angelina shrugged. "Well, it's not like we're showing off our strategy or anything, and the last time we tried for a secret weapon player didn't really work. Let her stay." She raised her voice. "Final call, Keeper trials!"

"Let me lend Ron my Firebolt," Harry said; Angelina stopped him.

"Will he be flying it during the actual games?" she asked.

"Well – no, I will be."

"So don't give him an unfair advantage during tryouts," she said.

Harry watched nervously from the sidelines. After Ginny had made her first goal during their preparation, Ron had gotten flustered and begun fumbling even easy saves until Harry bolstered him with the Firebolt. After that, he got into a rhythm and blocked almost everything, but without that, and thirty spectators…

Ginny, Alicia and Katie took turns shooting two goals apiece at each Keeper. Six people tried for the position; Ron was in fourth position. The previous best was a second-year with three saves. Ron blocked one, two, three, fumbled but deflected the fourth, and completely choked on the fifth and sixth.

"Oh Merlin, oh Merlin," he said, grey and shaking, as he flew away and let the next Keeper begin.

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said soothingly, "you were fine; you're the best so far."

"I can't believe I missed those last two," he said.

The next Keeper was a dud, but the last was a sixth-year who blocked five of his six goals.

"So, I take it I get the position," he said smugly.

Katie flew behind the boy and mouthed 'no no no' at Angelina, who frowned.

"Five against four is pretty close," she said. "We'll do another, longer trial to get a better idea."

"What!" said the boy, "but I did the best!"

"I noticed," Angelina said.

The older boy grumbled and went first on the second trial. He blocked thirteen of fifteen goals. Ron blocked the first two, then panicked and missed the next six. Angelina shot Katie an apologetic look.

"Cormac McLaggen makes Keeper," she said. "Ron Weasley is reserve."

The spectators cheered, and came down to congratulate them. Daphne was the lone exception; she hurried to leave.

"We'll have our first practice as soon as I can book the pitch," Angelina said, "hopefully sometime on the weekend. The first match is us against Slytherin, as usual, and they've still got those Nimbus Thousand and Ones, so we'll need plenty of practice, especially for the two new players. Good showing, everyone; make sure to check the info boards regularly."

Ron had three loving siblings to comfort him, so Harry put off showering and instead changed, and flew ahead to intercept the first person to reach the castle.

"What do you want?" Daphne asked.

"Some manners would be nice," he replied. "Failing that, I wouldn't mind knowing what you were doing there."

"I'm fairly sure that's none of your business," she said.

"Fred's my friend, so I'm fairly sure it is, actually."

She mouthed a swear word and looked away.

"What do you want with him?" Harry pressed.

Daphne glanced back and saw some more Gryffindors coming, then indicated to Harry to follow her into the castle and down a secret passage to some relative privacy.

"He … makes me laugh," she said.

Harry stared. "You … you fancy him?"

She glared. "I know the Tongue-Tying Curse and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I won't tell anyone," Harry said. "But – er – are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Potter, I've considered all possible scenarios and decided that fancying him is the optimal course of action. What do you even mean, _sure_ about it?"

"Well, um," he said. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What I'm not going to do is ask for your advice about relationships," Daphne said. "Padma told me about what you were like to Parvati at the Yule Ball last year. My compliments for outdoing Ron, for all that says."

"One time, and we never live it down," Harry muttered. "So what _are_ you going to do?"

"I don't know!" she said. "I've never been in this sort of situation before. He isn't … seing anyone, is he?"

"Not seriously," Harry said, thinking of a few off-handed comments about girls he'd heard both twins make over the past few months. "Can you even tell him apart from George?"

"Of course," Daphne said, turning slightly pink. "It just takes concentration. I can deal with this on my own, Potter."

"Er," Harry said. "You are a Slytherin..."

"What, and that makes me as bad at this sort of thing as Malfoy?"

"No, I meant – wait, I thought he was dating Pansy Parkinson?"

"She's going to see that he's terrible for her," Daphne said, "and break up violently. It's only a question of when, and which of us will be stuck with consoling her afterwards. I'm hoping it'll be Sally. She always does everything anyone tells her to."

Harry shook his head at this. "Actually, I meant that you're a Slytherin and Fred is a Gryffindor."

"This isn't _Romeo and Juliet_," Daphne said. "It's allowed."

"Er, it's not against the rules, I just think it might be … uphill work?"

"If you're not going to be any use," Daphne said, "then this conversation is over," and she turned with a huff and stalked off. He shook his head again and headed to the showers before dinner. Unfortunately, directly outside the exit to the secret passage was Snape, who immediately turned and fixed Harry with a look. Harry flinched and looked away.

"Potter," Snape said. "You've been studying, haven't you."

Harry breathed and took stock of his mind, but still didn't meet Snape's gaze. "It seemed like a good idea, sir," he said.

"A good idea," Snape repeated. "One which raises a host of questions. The field which you have been studying is an obscure defence to an obscure attack; where did you hear about it?"

Harry noticed his hands were clenched into fists. Occlumency encourages one to notice such actions, and analyse their utility; he relaxed. "I saw it once when I was flicking through one of Hermione's books. I can't remember which."

"If I were to ask her to corroborate that story," Snape said, "what do you suppose she would say?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry said. "Probably nothing. She does have an awful lot of books."

"Your shields are imperfect, as otherwise you would meet my gaze and proudly tell me you could defeat me," Snape said. "However, you are not a self-taught amateur; I did detect some skill earlier. Who has been teaching you?"

"No-one," Harry said.

"Occlumency or no, you never could lie to save yourself, Potter."

"I bought some books and I've been going through them," Harry said. "Ask Lupin; he saw them at the Black Hole."

"You will not so blithely mention the name of something so important where anyone could overhear," Snape said angrily, "and books are not enough to learn magic without practice. Practice which you could not get without access to a Legilimens."

"That never stopped Hermione," Harry said unthinkingly.

"Ah," Snape said with a thin smile.

"And yes, I know I couldn't learn it properly," Harry said. "That's why I'm not meeting your gaze now, _sir_."

"Indeed," Snape said. "Let it never be said I am partisan. One point to Gryffindor for accomplishing something in your life." And he swept off.

Harry stared for a moment: he'd never heard of Snape giving a single point to anyone outside of Slytherin. It took him a minute to realise he had to find Hermione and warn her that Snape would try to read her mind.


	9. Burn

[AN: Achievement unlocked: NaNoWriMoer: write 50k words in under a month]

Professor Llywarch held her Friday class outside, in a wide open field behind the greenhouses. Red and green rubber hoops, half an inch thick and two yards in diameter, connected by grey chains, were scattered across the grass. The Gryffindor/Ravenclaw dynamics hadn't really improved over the week: they still kept to House lines. Hermione had told Harry that for obvious reasons she got along with them famously in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and she was happy to sit with any of them, but they were more or less contemptuous of the rest of Gryffindor.

"They all went as a group to Anthony's house and saw _Animal House_ during Christmas of third year," Hermione said. "It took me six months to persuade them we weren't like that, but then you were put into the Tournament and they snapped straight back."

"I didn't even enter that!" Harry said.

"I realise, Harry, but how are you going to persuade _them_?" Hermione asked. "Tell them Lord Voldemort had you entered?"

"Not that I care about those smug gits," said Ron, only half bothering to keep his voice low, "but why _don't_ you?"

Terry gave Hermione a mock wounded look; she replied with an apologetic shrug.

"Because I don't know it wasn't just Crouch working alone," he said. "And for some reason, no-one believes that some lunatic former Death Eater would do something so complicated all by–"

"Good afternoon, Munchkins," said Professor Llywarch, making them all jump again. Today she was in a green camouflage cloak with the hood forward, despite the late summer heat, which hid her quite well against the grass when she kept still. "Today we start on attempting actual Apparition; we're outside because it can be unpleasant if you accidentally materialise inside a wall. These hoops contain local Anti-Anti-Dis/Apparition Enchantments, which obviately can only work with the Headmaster's permission. Everyone, find a green hoop and stand inside.

"The green hoops have the Disapparition fields, and the red ones topographically linked Apparition fields." Hermione and a few Ravenclaws gave little exclamations of admiration. "Meaning you can Apparate from inside a red hoop, only to the connected green one. This way, no-one can collide unless you overwhelm the enchantments, and even then, you'll probably land safely in open air.

"Now, you'll need to remember the three D's of Disapparition, which someone can remind me?"

She really did need the reminding: last time, she'd thought they were destiny, determinism, and dilettantism, making Harry suspect they probably weren't all that necessary to successful Apparition.

"Destination, determination, and deliberation," Hermione said promptly.

"Six points to Animal House," Llywarch said with approval; she was a staunch proponent of not always rounding point allocations to round numbers. "Now, remember, determination is the most important when learning, as a lack of it can lead to Splinching; this happened to a Hufflepuff this morning."

"A Hufflepuff hurt himself learning new magic?" undertoned Kevin. "Surely not!"

"Three points from Sarcasm House," she went on; he blushed. She had good hearing, with those long ears. "Now, if you perforce Apparition properly, there's a feeling sort of like forcing yourself through a tight, rubbery tube-"

Su began giggling. Hermione pointedly looked the other way.

"Wait – let me rephrase that. It's more a sensation of going really fast–"

"Or, depending on perspective, coming," Padma whispered loudly, and Su dissolved into peals of laughter.

Even Llywarch held a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "Touché … one point to Ravenclaw for good dialogue. But make sure to maintenance that pervasion of determination. It may make your first time take a little longer–" Su's laughter redoubled – "shut up, but it'll be much safer."

And so they spent the next hour and a half not Apparating.

"Not to worry," Llywarch said cheerfully when the bell rang; she waved her wand and the hoops gathered themselves up into bundles which she tucked under her robes. "It took me ages to pull one off – not a sound, Li."

Hermione stayed back after the class to talk with Llywarch; Harry and Ron stayed with her. It was about time to greet the Order member properly.

"So, how was I?" Llywarch asked.

"I don't think anyone's made you but me," Hermione said.

"You didn't exactly _make_ her," Ron said. "You knew in advance that she was in the Order."

"You see?" Hermione said, a touch smugly.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Llywarch, "what gave me away?"

"You called me Hermione in our first class. If you hadn't already met me, you would've called me Granger. Or possibly Dolohov."

"But we hadn't already met you," said Ron. "Had we?"

"Wotcher," said Llywarch, with a wink. "I got off the Hogwarts Express a few minutes after the rest of you. I didn't say anything; I wanted to know how good this disguise is."

"It's brilliant," said Harry. "You completely changed your personality, the way you talk and move and everything…"

"With such a small body, I feel light as air," she agreed. "And I've been practising with it for a while, so I'm pretty well acclimated to it."

"Clever, isn't it?" Hermione said. "Fudge knows her real identity and thinks he has an Auror under cover here, but she's really on Dumbledore's side."

"Fudge thinks Dumbledore's trying to take over the Ministry," Llywarch said. "I've been telling him I haven't been able to find any evidence. He keeps telling me to look harder."

"What an idiot," said Ron. "So if you're on Dumbledore's side, why aren't you teaching us any counter-curses or anything? Someone's going to have to fight You-Know-Who sooner or later."

"For a few reasons," Llywarch said. "One, because Fudge is worried Dumbledore is trying to build a private army."

"What, of students?" Harry said. "And that would be a threat?"

"That's what he thinks," Llywarch said.

"If that'd be a threat, You-Know-Who could knock the Ministry over with a few well-placed safety pins," Ron said.

"Ominous, isn't it?" Llywarch said. "At any rate, Fudge thinks it, and he might do something drastic if he got evidence supporting that. For one thing, I'd likely get fired, and I'd probably be replaced by someone who wouldn't even teach evasive magic.

"Reason two is that you're all school children: you're not going to be single-handedly defeating Voldemort any time soon. If any of you tangled with him, the best you could really hope for would be to get out alive."

"We could try," Ron said stubbornly.

"Try rhymes with die," Llywarch said. "Reason three is that most of the students here are neutral and don't want to fight anyone. Might as well teach them how to survive, then."

"… I guess," Ron said, still not wholly convinced.

"And you all have homework to do," Llywarch said. "Never talk to me anywhere obvious; we don't want anyone to connect me with any of you, especially Harry. Don't take it personally whenever I insult any of you; it's part of my Llywarch-sona. And for goodness' sake, make sure you call me Professor whenever anyone else might be listening. And, Auror tip: unless you're surrounded by privacy wards, someone with an Invisibility Cloak or Extendable Ears or a billion other tools could always be listening."

They turned back to the castle. Ron and Hermione presently began bickering over something trivial; Harry let it wash over him like the sound of waves against a cliff.

_Hey Voldemort, guess what I found out about the DADA professor!_

.. ... ...

The next morning, Neville and Ron felt up to trying the Animagus potion again. Harry again went down to watch their work, and even Hermione agreed to take the morning off with them.

"I think I know what went wrong last time," Neville said. "We assumed the units were fluid scruples, because that's what Snape uses. Black had all the volumes in metric."

He pulled out a loose note to support this conclusion, in Sirius' handwriting: _Note to self: this is all in millilitres. No idea what a scruple is._

"That's our Sirius," Harry said.

"That would mean you'd be using about eighteen percent too much," Hermione said.

"Wouldn't that just mean you'd get eighteen percent more potion?" Harry asked.

Hermione gave him a disbelieving look. "Don't you remember _any_ of the Potions theory we've learnt over the past four years?" she asked.

The boys all exchanged glances.

"It changes things like the thermal mass and thus time taken to transmit heat throughout the potion, and the fractional volatility and so on," she said. "And that causes nonlinear effects, obviously."

The boys stared.

"You can't just double the inputs to double the output," she summarised. "That's why you can't mass-produce potions easily, which is why they're so expensive."

"Oh," Ron said.

"And even that's assuming you used eighteen percent more of the solid ingredients, too," Hermione said. "Which you wouldn't, since the scruple as used as a unit of mass is thirty percent more than the gram. What? My parents made me learn metric."

"In any case, Sirius used ounces for weight," Neville said.

Hermione frowned and pulled Sirius' magic mirror from her magic bag, breathed on it, and said his name.

"Hermione?" came Sirius' voice.

"Hello, Sirius," she said. "I'm with Ron now; we were just wondering why you mixed millilitres with ounces with your Animagus revelation potion."

"Because the only thing sillier than the fluid ounce is the gram," he replied. "Seriously, what weighs exactly one gram? _Nothing_."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave the mirror to Harry; Neville and Ron set about preparing the potion. Harry stepped out of Neville's earshot and lowered his voice.

"So how's it going back at the Hole?" he asked.

"About as well as ever," Sirius said. "We have tabs on a few more suspected Death Eaters, we think they have tabs on a few more of us. Arthur seems to be pretty much in the clear, now; the Ministry's given up thinking he was behind the attack on Panemque. He still isn't doing anything for the Order, though; we just can't risk it for now."

"Did you ever find out anything about the man with red hair?" Harry asked.

"It's like he vanished into thin air. No leads at all. He probably isn't even in Britain any more. But that's not important. What's important is that I found that woman from the Circus again. Gigi Rowntree. Harry, you would not _believe_ how much girls like hearing you've been oppressed by The Man. The only thing better is telling her about how I escaped from the unescapable prison. Over Christmas, I'll see if I can't get you arrested and then broken out, and I swear, you'll–"

"Sirius?" came a drowsy feminine voice from the mirror.

"I'll call you later," Sirius said, and the mirror went blank. Harry looked over to his friends; Ron and Hermione were arguing. Neville watched on in distress, trying to stir the potion and calm them down at the same time and failing both.

"I walk to the far end of the room for thirty seconds, and you're already fighting?" Harry asked. "That has to be a record."

"I was only trying to help!" Hermione said.

"Yeah, well, so was Dobby when he sicced a Bludger on Harry," Ron said. "Do you really have to criticise every last little aspect of our work?"

"You were chopping that Shrivelfig with your hand too close to the knife," Hermione said. "You were going to slice your thumb open."

"I was not, I've been doing it that way since first year–"

"Yes, and you've been doing it wrong all that time–"

"It's none of your business–"

"I'm a prefect, if you hurt yourself–"

"Do you have to stick your nose into–"

"Fine!" Hermione said. "Chop off your thumb! See if I care!" And she turned and flounced off.

"Uh, Ron, we need to be adding the outer skin layer about now," Neville said. Ron snapped to attention and began helping with the potion.

"Er," said Harry.

"Don't start," Ron said.

"I'm not agreeing with her," Harry said, backing off, "but if we let her stew over this, she'll be a pain for the entire weekend." And he left the classroom to catch her up.

"I can't believe him!" she said. "I tell him not to self-amputate and he starts yelling at me!"

"I know, I know," Harry said. He cast around for a polite way to tell her that she _could_ sound a little bossy sometimes, before deciding it wasn't worth his skin and to fold her into a hug instead. He could feel her muscles all tensed up, even under her robes.

"Thanks," she said. She wrapped her arms around him and took several deep breaths; he could feel her unwind a little.

"Why don't we go and do something relaxing, like," he began, but then came up blank. What exactly _did_ they do together that was relaxing? She liked reading. Maybe … "Hey, didn't you say dancing was supposed to be useful somehow as an Occlumency exercise?"

"Do you want to do that?" Hermione asked, surprised, breaking the hug off. "I thought you weren't interested."

Astute observation. "Well, if it's awful, we can just stop," he said. "I mean it's worth a try, isn't it, if it means we can get our shields up faster."

They were pretty sure Snape had tried to read both of their minds during their last two Potions classes; both kept him at bay long enough to break eye contact. Hermione was fairly certain Snape had read Ron's mind instead, which probably wouldn't have satisfied him: Ron didn't know anything incriminating except his and Harry's lackadaisical approach to Divination.

"That makes sense, but I'm not sure we should do it _now_ now," Hermione said. "I mean, we don't have Potions again until Wednesday. We really ought to get a start on that Transfigur–"

The two other Slytherin boys of their year, Nott and Zabini, ran past, Zabini chasing Nott; they were exchanging jinxes.

"Hey!" Hermione said. "Magic isn't allowed in the corridors! Hey, stop!"

Nott jackknifed sideways, into Neville's and Ron's lab. Zabini followed, still throwing spells.

"Uh oh," Harry said. Hermione started toward the room; he touched her arm and motioned her to stay back.

"No!" Neville shouted. "The potion isn't–"

There came a sound like _zaankt_, and a deathly silence.

"Oh, nuts," Ron said at length.

"_Put it out! Quickly, put the fire out_!" shrieked Zabini.

"What in Merlin's name did you _do_?" Neville asked.

"Sweet, merciful God," breathed Nott.

"Why isn't the fire going out?" Ron cried, sounding panicked.

"Okay I'm getting a teacher bye," Neville said, and he came rushing out of the lab.

"_Aaaah_!" Zabini stumbled backward out of the room, raising his wand; a moment later, a wave of what looked like runny dough surged out of the lab at waist height and knocked him off his feet. Harry, Hermione and Neville turned and ran.

The rising tide of potion was barely feet behind them. As they sprinted along, they passed Tracey Davis, who dropped a book in surprise and was engulfed by the flood with a _glop_, and a knot of first-years, who ran down what Harry knew was a blind alley. Neville tripped over a crack between two stones and was gone. Hermione got a stitch in her side and slowed; Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her the last few feet to a staircase and up. The doughy potion wave crashed against the stairs and quivered like an angry caged cat.

Hermione gasped for breath, while Harry just stared. A moment later, Professor Flitwick came trotting up.

He opened his mouth to ask, then shut it and just gave Harry a 'What the heck?' look.

"Neville, potion, stray curse," he said. "People trapped inside it."

Professor Flitwick pulled and waved his wand, and a few cubic yards of the potion vanished; it was viscous enough that it took a moment for more of it to flood into the vacated space. Flitwick went downstairs, maintaining a continuous Vanishing field. Harry and Hermione followed him; they passed Neville, spitting out mouthfuls of the yellow liquid, and Tracey, clawing it from her hair, and soon Flitwick had cleared out the original lab.

"…" said Flitwick. "I'm not sure who, but I'm certain _someone_ is gettign a detention for this."

"Today's experiment: failed," Harry said.

"Maybe we should go with the charm after all," Neville said to Ron.

.. ... ...

Professor Flitwick's choir room was empty but unlocked most of the time: after all, it didn't have anything valuable, including the gramophone, which was so old even Ron sneered at it. However, for the time being, it would serve.

"I took some swing lessons a few summers ago," Hermione said, taking Harry's hands. "The basic step is forward on the beat, back on beat, for both the boy and the girl, like this. Yes, like that. The boy's supposed to lead, so whenever you step forward, pull your hands back to pull me forward, and when you step back, push them forward."

"But you know the step too," Harry said.

"You're supposed to do it this way," Hermione said. "It lets you improvise more easily."

"Am I expected to improvise?" Harry asked nervously.

"Well. I imagine its gets rather dull if you don't. Not right now, of course, now we're just getting some muscle memory working so we can try it with blindfolds. The entire point is to try to maintain a shield and spatial awareness even during movement and thinking about other things, which obviously we'll need if we want to stand a chance against Snape if he tries a concerted attack, or something like Veritaserum."

The books had said that Occlumency wasn't useful exclusively against Legilimency: it also could be used to defeat truth potions and other truth magics, such as Anti-Lying Quills and Imperius plus direct orders to tell the truth. This had been instrumental in so many Death Eaters' acquittals after the last war. Voldemort had made all of his inner circle learn the art; he complained to Harry that too many were too stupid to learn it, and he had had to create ranks specifically to keep track of who would be able to resist interrogation.

Hermione started the music and took Harry's hands again, and they began moving. With only a single, simple back-and-forth motion, it was very easy, even with Hermione nagging him to lead her before the beat.

"I feel like it should go _on_ the beat," he said.

"No, I'm supposed to step and hit the beat. You need to be a bit before so I have advance warning," she said.

"That's actually kind of boring," Harry said, after the first song ended. "There is more to swing than that, isn't there?"

"Of course," Hermione said. She pulled out two scarves and Harry tied one over his eyes. "I only remember twirls and the dip, but I'm sure there are some books in the library. I can read up on them if you're interested."

"Er. Let's leave learning dancing from a book as a last resort," Harry said.

Hermione began the music again, then turned it way down, so they could hear each other's footsteps and breathing over it. She then walked over to Harry, tied her own scarf in place, and took his hands. They took a minute to breathe and defocus.

"Lead when you're ready," Hermione said.

Harry listened to the beat: one two three four one two three, and pushed at Hermione's hands. They moved apart, then back together, and apart, and then he trod on her foot. She tripped over backward with an un-Hermione-ish exclamation.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Okay, maybe that was too big a second step," she said. "Harry, take off your scarf. We'll try it with one of us being blindfolded at a time."

.. ... ...

As much trouble as their new Occlumency experiments were, they were nowhere near as bad as Quidditch. For the first time ever, Harry was unhappy at practices, and one didn't have to look far to see why. Their new Keeper, Cormac McLaggen, was about obnoxious enough to give Malfoy a run for his money, and even more universally disliked. Even Ron admitted Hermione didn't criticise anyone as much as he did; McLaggen told the girls how to Chase, the twins how to Beat, and even Harry how to Seek. Angelina he lectured on strategy, which she accepted stoically with locked jaw.

"You wouldn't have to put up with that if you made Ron Keeper," Harry said, out of McLaggen's earshot.

"Tempting," Angelina admitted, "but McLaggen'd be as bad or worse as a reserve. I can't rationalise bumping him and not having him as reserve; he was far better than anyone else at tryouts."

Fred and George vented their feelings by hitting Bludgers at him when neither he nor Angelina were watching, and by occasionally slipping him some of their Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but Angelina inevitably found out and yelled at them both for a quarter of an hour, threatening to use Sloper and the boy who'd finished fourth, the Cup be damned.

To top it all off, he flirted indecently with Hermione on the one occasion Harry roped her into coming to practice with him and Ron; she told Harry point blank that with all due respect, they didn't technically _need_ supporters at their next match and that she did have an awful lot of O.W.L. homework.

"He can never be allowed near her again," Harry said after.

"Never," Ron agreed, possibly more in deference to Harry or their mutual dislike of McLaggen than protectiveness toward Hermione.

McLaggen wasn't actively hostile to Ron as he didn't consider him a serious threat (an attitude Harry found rather galling), but kept referring to him as a 'little guy', which seemed to quite effectively grind Ron's already low self-confidence into the mud.

Aside from him, Jack Sloper, the reserve Beater, kept having to sub in when either of the twins were in detention – which happened more and more often, as Snape observed that this would help his own chances of winning the Cup – and he was useless. Worse, he didn't have the twins' uncanny co-ordination, and Angelina ruled they had to abandon their tactic of feeding each other easy Bludgers to better unseat opponents after the second time George knocked Sloper out cold. McLaggen criticised Sloper worse than anyone while he was on the pitch, and Harry had a nasty feeling they wouldn't put their animosity behind them when it came to the pitch.

Even aside from all that, O.W.L. year really was the hardest, by a wide margin. Harry worked out the rule of thumb that each contact hour, aside from being difficult in its own right, was followed by almost an hour of homework, giving a backlog of at least five assignments every weekend. Quite often he worked the entire weekend, and with his slowly progressing Occlumency, Quidditch training, and the occasional detention, he had almost no time to himself to relax. It wasn't until the first Hogsmeade weekend, in October, that he really realised how much he needed a break.

"You do appreciate the irony that it'll come at the cost of needing to work through all of Sunday, don't you?" Hermione asked on Saturday morning.

"We're not forcing you to come with us," Ron replied.

"Who are you talking to?" Hermione asked. "I finished all my homework last night."

Ron grumbled.

Hermione was still getting the Daily Prophet; the post owls came clattering into the Hall at that moment. She unfurled it.

_CONVICTED DEATH EATERS FOUND DEAD IN CELLS_

"Oh, hello," Hermione said, and began reading aloud to the boys. "The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that several inmates have been found dead in Azkaban of unexplained causes. Speaking from his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that as many as fourteen prisoners, eleven of them convicted Death Eaters, have died. The coroner has not yet completed his work, but leaks reveal that none of the fourteen have visible trauma, leading to speculation that Dark magic may have been used."

"Namely, the Killing Curse," said Ron.

Harry glanced over the captioned photos around the article. They were photos of the dead Death Eaters, sneering at the camera, with brief descriptions of their charges.

"Nikolaus Stropolos, convicted of perpetrating the Muggle Massacre of '78," he read. "Archeus Castlewright, convicted of casting twelve, and suspected of over a hundred, spells in support of Death Eater activity, including Anti-Disapparition Jinxes that led to the deaths of Fabian and Gideon Prewitt and Lily and James Potter."

"Bloody hell," Ron said. "This is an Azkaban All Stars list. These were the worst of the worst. Dad's mentioned them, but never said what half of them did. Dolohov, yeah, he's there … Bellatrix Lestrange, she was supposed to be You-Know-Who's second-in-command…"

"Serve her right," said Neville, his brow set. He was on Hermione's left side, reading over her shoulder.

"Who were the other three?" Harry asked.

"I think they might have been suppliers of one sort or another," Ron said. "Look, Christina Lasker, who knowingly stole and sold over four thousand Galleons of Ministry goods to You-Know-Who. Never a Death Eater, but helped them by things like that."

"This can't have been a coincidence," Harry said. "Not fourteen all at once."

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore's the only leader who thinks Voldemort is back," Hermione said, "so he's the only one who'd have anything to gain by pre-emptively killing his followers."

"Dumbledore wouldn't murder unarmed prisoners," Neville said. "He helped put them in there."

"What do you think?" Ron asked Harry.

"I don't know," he said. "Let me mull it over."

_Voldemort, have you read the Prophet?_

_I knew about that story before it broke._

_What do your sources say?_

_Expletives, mostly. The old man's gotten one up on me. I had been planning an expedition to rescue them – they were my best shock troopers, after all – so I really should have expected him to try and scorch the earth first. He's slipped up, though, greedy fool._

_He has?_ Harry began eating his corn flakes. He'd eventually realised that he didn't look so suspicious if he kept his mouth busy during his psychic conversations.

_They were magically potent people. He didn't just AK them in their sleep. He brought Body Double Potions – I imagine Snape's been brewing them over the past month – and left those, and kidnapped the Death Eaters. He wants to use the ritual on them._

_I thought Dementors drained wizards of their powers over time?_

_They do, with a caveat. Occlumency can block most of their effects. My inner circle Death Eaters were all master Occlumens; they're still at full power._

_But … if he could already overpower you, and he sacrifices another fourteen crack sorcerers –_

_Not to worry. The rituals take time. He's currently holding them in a castle in the Outer Hebrides. I'm going to rescue them._

_Really? When?_

_In about_ there was a pause, as of someone checking a watch _five minutes. I'm outside right now with a platoon of mercenaries. It'll only take half an hour if all goes to plan, but please don't say anything even after then, in case something goes wrong._

_Good luck, I guess._

_Thanks, Harry. I'll let you know how it goes. Voldemort out._

"But the _point_ is," Ron was saying to Hermione over Harry's head, "that Dumbledore is a Light wizard, and the entire point of being Light is that you don't go around assassinating defenceless prisoners, no matter what they did to deserve it."

"He led the resistance against Lord Voldemort – will you _stop twitching_ Ron, it's embarrassing, you're supposed to be a Gryffindor – the resistance against him last time, and now," Hermione replied. "You can't effectively fight a war without killing people."

"It's not about killing in hot blood, it's about murder in cold."

"So what's your brilliant theory, then?" Hermione asked. "Which isn't any more contrived than supposing the Headmaster doesn't share your moral code?"

"Fudge did it," Ron said promptly. "Look, he's worried Dumbledore is trying to make a power grab, right? It only makes sense for Fudge to pull something like this and then try to pin it on Dumbledore."

"Far-fetched," Hermione said dismissively. "Fudge is the Minister for Magic–"

"You just like him because he's in a position of authority," Ron said. "You always do this, like with Snape–"

"Who has, in fact, actually been on our side," Hermione cut back across him, "but as I was going to say, Fudge is a ranking politician, so presumably he knows how to play politics, if nothing else. He lost enough power and money from the attack on Panemque; he's not going to make it look like he can't even guard his own prison."

"How popular do you think this will be?" Harry asked. "I mean, if these were feared Death Eaters, maybe people will be happy they're dead. In that case, Fudge will probably take credit, regardless of whether he was behind it."

"And if Fudge is such a good politician," Ron said, "he would have thought of that already."

Hermione opened her mouth to kneecap that argument, but Harry caught her eye and shook his head slightly, so instead she said, "I – I didn't think of that. I … suppose that's true."

Neville and Ron both goggled at her.

"You … you admitted you were wrong," Ron said, awestruck. "You never admit it when you're wrong."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said. "I always admit it when I make mistakes."

"And the last time that happened was when?" Ron asked.

"That I admitted it, or that I made a mistake?" Hermione asked. "Either way, a long time ago."

Ron shook his head and returned to his bacon.

As when Sirius first escaped and was known to be prowling around Hogwarts, the security had increased. Harry had caught Professors Flitwick and McGonagall laying extra enchantments around the castle perimeter; the ghosts were often seen standing watch atop the battlements; and a new rule was put in place that a teacher had to be present at the Quidditch pitch during all practices, which rather restricted the available time, since most refused to go out in bad weather.

It therefore wasn't surprising to see that some of that security was visible around Hogsmeade too. Dumbledore obviously didn't have the authority to hire security trolls, but when Harry got there, Ron and Hermione on either side, it didn't take long before he saw Flitwick, who had what might have been a Veela on either arm, and not much later, Rosie Lalor, who gave a wink before mingling with a crowd of Hufflepuff sixth-years.

The town itself was lovely in the autumn, with piles of Gryffindor-hued leaves raked up into mounds every few dozen yards. The townspeople were out in force, always happy to welcome students and ask them whether they felt like buying anything. Ron suggested, as usual, that they get a drink in the Three Broomsticks.

"Hey, Harry," he said. "Have you talked to Cho Chang lately?"

"Cho?" Harry asked. "Do you know, I'd forgotten all about her. I haven't spoken to her since the holidays; I ran into her in Diagon Alley."

"With a girl," Hermione said.

Harry gave her an enquiring look.

"I hear some of the Ravenclaw grapevine in Arithmancy," she said with a shrug. "Lisa said she heard you were with and I quote 'a voluptuous blonde who was slathered on you like too much marmalade'."

"Those Ravenclaws are such wanks," Ron said. "They actually talk like that?"

"True," said Harry. "That was Rosie. I think … I really have no idea what goes on inside her head. I think she might have just been bored."

"Well, whatever the case, it seems to have cemented their opinion of you," Hermione said. "I don't think you'll be dating any of them any time soon."

"Not even that Li girl?" Ron asked.

Hermione huffed. "It's not that she's easy. She has very specific tastes. She's just … proactive when she finds someone who has what she's looking for."

Three or four sharp responses clearly went through Ron's mind, but he had the sense to clamp down on them, barely.

"Hey, I see someone I know," Harry said, standing up, leaving his drink. "Try not to kill each other for five minutes?"

"No promises," Ron said.

Harry made his way over to the far side of the room, where Daphne was sitting with a double mug of strengthened Butterbeer.

"Rack off, Potter," she said.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking the seat next to her. She looked dishevelled, as though she'd been running; her normally perfect hair was tousled and it looked like she might have been crying.

"The part where you're not racking off," she said. "What are you, my mother?"

"Normally you'd be with Pansy and her friends," he said.

"Last I checked, you didn't like any of us."

"I'm just a little worried, is all. You seemed almost human the last time we spoke. Why aren't you with them?"

"I don't want to tell them even more than I don't want to tell you," she said.

"You have to tell someone," Harry said. "I should know; I'm an expert on bottled-up feelings causing trouble later on."

She glared at him for a moment, then slid her mug over. He took a gulp and passed it back.

"Weasley," she said.

Harry sighed. "What's Ron done now?"

"Not him," she said. "Fred."

"You asked him out," Harry guessed. "And … he wasn't interested."

"That's an understatement." She drank another mouthful. "So here I am, nothing to do 'cept get tipsy and hope none of my friends sees me looking like this."

"Daphne, I'm–"

"What, sorry? Don't give me your pity."

"Look, just – don't give up hope, alright?" Harry said. "Not about him personally, but I mean, you know, life in general."

"If it's between your pity and that platitudinous crap, I think I'd rather the pity," Daphne said.

The door opened, and in came a gaggle of Ravenclaws, including Kevin Entwhistle. Ron hurried over to Harry with his Butterbeer.

"That would be our cue to leave," he said.

"This is silly, Ron," Hermione said. "Okay, maybe they can be a little prickly sometimes, but they're really very nice people once you get to know them."

"Yeah, I think it's the getting to know them part I'm so worried about," Ron said, and they left the pub. "Hey, do either of you smell oil?"

Hermione sniffed. "I think that's diesel," she said. "Maybe there's a fuel depot nearby. For the train, I suppose."

Ron shrugged. "I guess. Where do you want to go now?"

"I do could with a new quill pen," Hermione said. "Let's go to Scrivenshaft's."

"Hey, wait," Harry said abruptly. He stared into the middle distance.

"What is it?"

"I thought I just saw someone duck down a side alley up ahead," Harry said, beginning to walk, fast. "A man. He walked weirdly, like a marionette being controlled by a bad puppeteer."

"Like someone under a badly-cast Imperius?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. Or maybe some other sort of mind-altering magic," Harry nodded. He pulled his wand out. "He had thin red hair and spectacles."

Hermione gasped, and she and Ron pulled out their wands. "The Circus attacker."

"Stick together," Harry said. "If this is him, I don't think he'll be easy to take down."

They pushed through a crowd of younger students and turned into the side alley. It turned again; they crept slowly toward the junction, as silently as possible. Harry looked into his purse for his Invisibility Cloak.

"What are you waiting for?" came a squawky male voice from past the turn. "I'll bet you've been wanting to meet me for a long time."

Harry exchanged glances with Ron, who looked pale but determined, and Hermione, who was more outright apprehensive, and turned the corner.

The man was leaning against the side of a building. With a longer moment to observe him, Harry could see that he didn't really look all that much like a Weasley: he had the right hair, but nothing else. His face was long and thin, the cheeks hollow. The eyes were orange. His limbs were almost grotesquely long and thin, giving him an extremely ungainly, gawky stride. His jet black wand was in hand.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Who am I, really," said the man. His voice sounded almost like a bird's screech. "I'm someone who's lost everything. Do you have any idea what is left, when everything you ever loved, everything you once cared about, has been taken away? _Not a hell of a lot_, Potter."

"You drew those Acromantula onto the Circus," Ron said.

"Oh, yes," said the man. "Even after you've lost everything, you gain something to live for instead." His thin, spidery face hardened. "Revenge."

"Revenge against who?" Hermione asked. "Those were innocent people, they were just going to a circus for some fun!"

"You don't have a damn clue what you're talking about," said the man. "When the negligence of an entire society is responsible for the horrors I've seen, the entire society is guilty. If that's because they're too lazy to care, too apathetic to stop the perpetrators, well…" He shrugged. "So be it."

"Twenty-nine people died then," Harry said, levelling his wand.

"Thirty," corrected the man. "Another, later in hospital, of his wounds. And if you're trying to make me feel guilty about it, you just don't get it. It's not that I can't feel guilt. It's that those people don't deserve my pity. They're just as responsible for everyone I've lost, as the man who … devoured them."

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.

"I'm telling you why this isn't evil," he said. "It's justice. _Pertoten flamans_."

He pointed his black wand at the brick façade of the building on his right, and a spurt of fire shot out. Some paint on the wall crackled and blackened; the roof caught alight. He jerked his wand to either side, and the fire jet coalesced into animals: a kelpie, and something like a bear with a narrow, conical head.

"_Aguamenti_!" Hermione cried, and shot a stream of water at the fire; it hissed and evaporated without effect.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry shouted, aiming for the man, who broke off his spell to swish his wand downward, conjuring a silent Shield; the Stunner ricocheted off and into the air.

"_Nequ'exire_," the man added, then he fired two silent curses at them. One went high; Harry dodged the other.

"Anti-Disapparition," Hermione said. "Get to cover!"

"_Impedi_-" Ron began, before a Banishing Charm hit him in the chest and sent him flying into the building behind. He fell to the ground.

Harry cast a Disarming Charm over his shoulder, and ran back to help Ron up. He was only dazed, not unconscious, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Fire!" Hermione shouted, running back into the main street of Hogsmeade. "Someone, find Flitwick!"

Harry got Ron out just behind her; a crowd was gathering. "Everyone, get back!" Harry said.

"What's going on?" asked a blonde Ravenclaw fourth-year.

The roofs behind Harry flared up, stoked by the cursed fire, and the flamebear staggered into sight. Behind him appeared Flitwick.

"Fiendfyre," he said grimly. "Give me space," and the crowd formed a semicircle ten yards back from him, as he drew his wand and squared off against the bear.

It loped sideways, circling Flitwick, and Harry's Seeker eyes instinctively tracked its path: directly ahead of it was a pile of leaves, glistening in the sun. That's what the man had been doing when Harry saw him: pouring a potion like diesel over it.

"_Watch out_!"

The Fiend feinted toward Flitwick, who began the countercurse to dispel it, before it turned and pounced on the leaf pile. There was a split second and –

Harry rolled with the shockwave and was the first to his feet. He was just in time to see the explosion send flaming bits of debris flying overhead, four of which were more Fiends. They ignored the stunned people and homed in on the other leaf piles.

_Voldemort! Do you know how to dispel Fiendfyre?_

_Yes. That's the sort of question you should ask in advance, for future ref-_

_I need you at Hogsmeade, now._

_I'm hundreds of miles away and under Anti-Disapparition. Hold on._

There came a volley of concussion waves, as Fiends sprung up all over the village. Most of the leaf piles weren't dosed with potion and only created another one creature, but that still meant dozens of them inside the village, with dozens more clustered around the exits, where most of the leaves were gathered.

"EVERYONE, FALL BACK!" Harry roared over the noise of burning. "GET TO HONEYDUKES!"

Flitwick conjured a blue dome over the knot of people; a flamebird rammed it.

"It won't hold them!" he cried. "Go!"

"_Depulso_!" Hermione said, and blasted the bird away, but fifteen more monsters converged on them.

The heat was already scorching, and the smoke stung their eyes. All around them, building's dry thatch roofs were catching alight; when the Fiends reached anything flammable, they grabbed and ate it, either multiplying or just sending sparks flying to start more fires.

Harry rummaged inside his purse, pulled out his Firebolt, mounted it, and took off, going through the fireproof dome without resistance. He scanned the village. In seconds, it had turned into a war zone: half of it was burning, isolated knots of witches and wizards were blasting away at the fire creatures, and the exits were already blocked by burning rubble. He spotted a third-year lying prone, swooped down, grabbed him by the wrist, and flew to Honeydukes, which was still relatively unscathed: it was packed with students, some of whom could conjure water, which at least slowed the Fiendfyre down.

"Secret passage in the store room!" he shouted, and coughed on the smoke. "Store room! Go!"

_There's an Anti-Apparition spell active around Hogsmeade. I'll be another few minutes._

_Hurry! We don't have much time left!_

_I see from here._

He kicked off again and found and rescued another smoking kid. He went back and forth five more times, before Flitwick's group reached the store. The blue dome was gone, and Flitwick was staggering, reduced to knocking the monsters with Banishing Charms. Rosie had joined up with them at some point and was disintegrating targets with purple beams of light. About half the group was burnt or blackened and leaning against the others.

The unhurt people fanned out to cover the walking wounded as they crowded into Honeydukes and down the secret passage. Hermione, who had apparently hosed herself down at least once and had thought to conjure a Bubble to block the copious smoke, was holding the rearguard, conjuring ice cubes, which lasted slightly longer than liquid water.

"Fall back! _Annihilix_!" Rosie shouted, blasting a fiery unicorn to embers. "Fall back!"

Shoving his Firebolt into his purse to free a hand, Harry Summoned another student who'd collapsed, and dragged her inside. There was a bottle-up in the store room, because people couldn't move through the secret passage very fast. Harry opened his mouth to shout at them, but his voice was gone.

The wall past the secret passage opened up: the Fiend had torn it apart. The wall was wooden; in moments, the bear had it aflame. Tracey Davis, who was queuing by the secret passage and nursing a blackened arm, raised her wand and silently blasted it with a jet of green light; it shook its head and glared at her.

_Voldemort, now would be a really good time!_

_I assume you're in Honeydukes?_

_YES!_

A flash of purple light hit the flamebear; it smashed apart like a dropped vase.

Without the monster to worry about, Harry could Extinguish the rear wall and look out. Voldemort, in a black cloak with the hood up and a silver mask, was floating twenty yards above ground. His wand was streaming red light like a flamethrower, except wherever it hit, fires went out and the Fiends froze and fell apart. He cleared some breathing room, and went around to the front, where he chased the Fiendfyre off the last stragglers. Harry followed the cleared path to the front, where the last sooty humans were watching, awed.

There was a final flash of fire, and Dumbledore appeared, clutching Fawkes. He looked around, his wand out, and zapped out a few nearby fires.

"_Intrare_," he said; there was a sound like shattering glass as the Anti-Apparition Jinx went down. "_Exire_." He shot a blue flare into the sky; moments later, half a dozen teachers Apparated in.

_Opportunism is a virtue._

Harry looked up and saw the flash of green light. Somehow, Dumbledore must have seen it too, because he sidestepped and waved his wand; a chunk of rock shot up at Voldemort, who Disapparated.

_Worth a try_.


	10. Neutrality's End

The teachers fanned out, dealing with the last scattered Fiends and fires, or giving first aid to the worst wounded. Flitwick conjured a breeze to deal with the smoke, then swooned and sat down abruptly. The two gorgeous girls he'd been with earlier, plus a third, ran over to coddle him.

Harry pulled his mirror out of his purse and breathed on it. "Sirius?"

There was a pause, and Sirius appeared. "Harry, what's wrong? Your voice sounds off."

"Smoke," Harry said. He was very thirsty, but there didn't seem to be any water around, and everyone who knew how to conjure it was exhausted or busy. "Hogsmeade's burned."

"_Hogsmeade_? What?"

"Bring med supplies," Harry said, and broke down, coughing.

A hand offered him a water bottle; he took it and drained half. "Thanks," he croaked, and turned to see who'd given it to him: Kevin Entwhistle.

"Don't mention it," Kevin said. He took the bottle back. "To anyone, ever. Have you seen Tracey anywhere? We got separated…"

"She was inside a minute ago," Harry said. Kevin nodded and left.

Harry wandered outside, at a loss. Locals and students alike were leaning against Honeydukes' walls or just sitting down in the street, doing whatever they could for their injured or dying friends. His head began throbbing. There were sporadic Apparition pops, as random witches and wizards, and soon Order members, DMLE members and Healers showed up. Sirius was one of the first, carrying a white satchel marked with a red pentagram.

"Harry!" he said, and rushed over and hugged him. "Are you all right? You're so sooty I can't tell…"

"I'm fine," Harry said. He rubbed at his pounding temple. "A bit singed is all."

Sirius took out his wand and ran it over Harry. "What happened here? You can't tell me someone knocked over a candle."

"No. We saw him, Ron and Hermione and me … the man with red hair and glasses."

Sirius stared, then hurried Harry away from Honeydukes, behind a pile of rubble that had recently been another shop. "The man from the Circus attack?"

"Yeah. He said so. Then said something about losing everyone, and wanting revenge on society … and he cast a spell, Flitwick called it Fiendfyre."

Sirius winced. "In a populated area … what a piece of work. Did you notice anything else about the man?"

"He didn't look anything like the Weasleys," Harry said. "He was tall, and walked weirdly … he had a black wand."

"A _black_ wand? I've never heard of one of those."

"Can we go and find Ron and Hermione? The man blasted Ron, and Hermione looked hurt too."

The Healers set up a triage point and began conjuring mattresses for the wounded; they found Ron lying on one on his side. The nearest Healer was a middle-aged woman leaning over a figure, unidentifiable because of horrific burns across their face and upper body, rubbing a yellow paste into the blackened skin.

"He'll be fine," she said, not looking up or pausing. "Save your energy for the touch-and-go cases."

Harry wanted to argue, but Sirius nodded and went off to help the worst off. He looked around and found Hermione, who was dirty and whose skin was covered in red splotches from embers, staring into space.

"Hermione?" he asked. A moment later, she had him in a tight hug. He heard her say something he barely parsed as "Worse than the spiders".

He held her for long minutes, eyes shut to the world, only hearing the sounds of the post-mortem. Someone was sobbing nearby.

"Excuse me," said a crisp, professional voice. Harry broke the hug. It was a pair of Aurors, a man and a woman. "Harry Potter? We'd like to take statements, please."

.. ... ...

Harry and Hermione slept most of the rest of the day in Gryffindor Tower; it was dinner time when they descended to the Great Hall. Whispers followed them wherever they went: it was already common knowledge that they had seen the red-haired man.

The Hall was only three-quarters full, and draped in black. Plenty of students had been hurt in the fire, and the Hospital Wing had been expanded to include several other classrooms on the fourth floor. A few people were in Saint Mungo's. The first- and second-years were wide-eyed and the only ones unhurt; Harry suspected some of them might not be going to Hogsmeade next year.

When it looked as though everyone who was coming was there, Dumbledore stood up, and the few dull conversations died.

"As you are no doubt all aware," he began, "there was an attack on Hogsmeade this morning. An unknown arsonist conjured cursed fire throughout the village, leading to many injuries and some deaths. In particular, Hogwarts mourns two of its own: Marietta Edgecombe of Ravenclaw and Christopher Mann of Slytherin." Harry, not knowing either, let out a sigh of relief, and immediately felt guilty. Looking over at the other tables, some of the older Ravenclaws and younger Slytherins were crying; the others and the Hufflepuffs were solemn. He could see Cho Chang sobbing into her hands, a friend hugging her from either side.

"We honour their lives and passing; their funerals shall be held next weekend. I urge you all to give their friends and family space, yet offer the hand of friendship as needed. Death is a hard thing to deal with at the best of times.

"The village of Hogsmeade remains standing." This was generous; Honeydukes was the only substantially intact building left, other than the Shrieking Shack, which was out of range. "However, given the attack was conducted during a visit from Hogwarts students, we must assume that we were targets; as such, further trips to Hogsmeade are suspended until further notice, and the secret passage to Honeydukes has been sealed. If anyone has information on the perpetrator, I beg you on behalf of the magical world to come forward."

Heads swivelled to Harry and Hermione, who had been debriefed at length by both Ministry and the Order. Dumbledore hadn't looked Harry in the eye once.

"Furthermore, if any have any information as to the flying figure who vanquished most of the flames, I urge them to come forward about him, too.

"For noteworthy acts of courage in the face of this attack, I award one hundred points to each of Draco Malfoy, Michael Corner, Yulanda Quinn, and Harry Potter."

Quinn was a seventh-year Hufflepuff who had led the defence of Honeydukes. Malfoy and Corner, according to the rumours, had somehow held the Fiends off of ten wounded, including Ginny. Harry, of course, had picked people up with his Firebolt. No-one mocked his purse ever again.

"That will be all," said Dumbledore. He sat back down, and whispers broke out throughout the hall. Harry and Hermione were focal points.

"We don't know anything about the flying man," Hermione lied forcefully. She hadn't been so glib before Occlumency. "We just saw the arsonist."

"What was he like?" asked a third-year. Ron was in the Hospital Wing with the twins, staying at Ginny's bedside: she was in at least overnight.

"Creepy as anything," Hermione said. "He moved like a puppet, and was raving about…"

Harry took a plateful of food, suddenly ravenous, and let Hermione do the talking. _What do you make of it?_ he thought._ I thought the man was one of Dumbledore's people, but he ranted as though all of his friends had died. I took that as meaning they'd all been sacrificed; shouldn't that have made him one of Dumbledore's enemies?_

_If you were Dumbledore and met this desolate young man, would you confess that you were responsible for everything? Or would you blame someone else?_

… _He said the Minister and other high-ups do the ritual, but not himself._

_Classic power-grab strategy. Identify any potential enemies of your enemies, turn them, and hand them weapons. There's no way Fudge will be able to suppress this news. It looks like he's too weak to protect the people; that leaves Dumbledore as the only credible alternative._

_But … attacking his own school?_

_You were never very good at chess, were you?_ Voldemort asked wryly._ To win, you have to be willing to sacrifice pawns to take major pieces. A few school children, to take over Britain?_

_If he really does think like that, he'll stop at nothing. You have to do something._

_I am. In particular, today my ranks grew by thirteen._

_Wasn't it fourteen?_

_You interrupted us. One didn't make it. Christina Lasker. Requiescat in pace._

…

_You don't get to feel guilty about her. It was my decision to leave her. And, since I arrived in the nick of time, one I don't regret. Still, I'm making progress in my war._

_So you have some of your Death Eaters back. What now?_

_Now the DMLE is on high alert looking for the perp, and we're laying low to plan our next move. I don't think we'll be ready before Christmas. Are you willing to participate?_

_I thought you'd never ask._

_Normally I wouldn't, but there's a special task for which you're uniquely qualified. I'll let you know more once I work out some details. Say, isn't this about when Hogwarts serves dinner?_

_Yeah, but Hermione's taking questions for me._

_For crying out loud!_

And there was silence. Harry tuned back into the conversations at the table.

"Where was Dumbledore, anyway?" Seamus was saying angrily. Dean was in the Hospital Wing. "Fat lot of good he did, showing up right after that other bloke had already put everything out."

"The flying man shot a spell at Dumbledore's back," said Parvati. "It looked like a Killing Curse, remember how Moody showed us last year?"

"He stopped the fires," Seamus said. "If it's him or Dumbledore, I'm with him."

"You don't mean that," Neville said loyally.

"I damn well do," Seamus said. "Dean would prob'ly be dead by now if it weren't for him."

"He looked like a Death Eater," Parvati said.

"The Death Eaters wouldn't be so bad if all they did was put out fires," Seamus said.

"Yeah, but they don't," Neville said. "They also kill Muggle-borns."

"When he starts killing people rather than saving them, that's when I'll turn on him, and not a moment before," Seamus said. Lavender and Parvati nodded; Harry got the general impression from the rest of the table that most of Gryffindor agreed.

"They said on the wireless that he's wanted for questioning," said Lavender. "And there's a fifty thousand Galleon reward for informing on the arsonist."

"Fifty _thousand_," said Parvati. "Imagine that! That's five times Sirius Black when he was still guilty. What couldn't you buy with that!"

"Don't even talk about it," Hermione said sharply. "He beat me, Harry and Ron without even looking. He must be a master of duelling and the Dark Arts."

"You got away, though," Parvati persisted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

They discussed the fire all through dinner and went over it, again and again, when all Harry wanted was to sleep; Hermione was showing signs of fatigue too. They were only too happy when they were dismissed, and heavily joined the crowd of Gryffindors heading back to their tower. In the first corridor en route, though, they were intercepted by Daphne.

"The dungeons are _downstairs_, Greengrass," Lavender said, as though to a very slow child.

Daphne gave her a look, as though internally debating whether she was a high life form worthy of attention, and, apparently deciding not, turned to Harry instead. "Potter. I need a word."

"I'm exhausted," he said. "Can't it wait?"

"I need a word," she repeated.

He exchanged a glance with Hermione, and they gestured their House-mates to go on ahead.

"I need a word alone," Daphne clarified.

"Do you honestly think I won't tell Hermione everything?" Harry asked.

"I do," Daphne said. "Because I won't tell you if I think you'll tell anyone."

"I won't keep secrets from Hermione," Harry said.

"Those who do not keep secrets do not deserve them," Daphne said.

"That's a Slytherin attitude," said Harry.

"Deal with it."

"Go for it," Hermione said. "It won't help matters having none of us know."

"She's smarter than you," said Daphne. "Listen to her."

Harry wasn't happy with it, but Hermione walked off before he could object. Daphne led him into a classroom and locked the door behind them.

"How's your Occlumency?" she asked.

Harry started. "Pretty good, now. How do you know about it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm the heiress to a fortune larger than some kingdoms. I've been tutored in it since I was six. My father promises to teach me Legilimency once I'm sixteen. I'll trust that you're not overconfident in your abilities.

"Before I say anything, I want your word of honour that you will never repeat any of what I tell you to anyone until and unless you learn about it by some third source. You will not tell Granger, you will definitely not tell that idiot redhead. You will not write it in your diary; you will not dig a hole in the ground, tell it, and fill the hole in. You won't repeat the content, nor that it was me who said it."

Harry bit his lip.

"As Granger said, if you agree, you learn something useful. If you don't, you walk out with nothing."

"Fine," he said. "I swear it."

Daphne cast a Revealing Charm, looking for anyone already in the room; nothing. Then she cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door, followed by an Alarm Charm, and a Ghost-Repelling Charm.

"You remember," she said, "how I told you, at the High Gala, that my family deals in services."

"You didn't say what they were."

"We own recipes to a few powerful potions, among other things. One service is selling non-exclusive licences to use a recipe. We let a potioneer memorise it, but they are required to first make an Unbreakable Vow never to tell another the recipe. We signed one of these contracts earlier in the year, to the man with thin red hair and glasses."

"You what," Harry said.

"It was before the attack on the Circus," she went on coolly. "We didn't ask too many questions. It comes with the price."

"If you signed a contract, you must have a name," Harry said.

"No. He insisted on complete anonymity. We agreed but increased the price significantly. He paid. So he has a lot of gold behind him. This is why you can't tell anyone that I told you this. Greengrass has a centuries-old reputation for confidentiality; if it got out that I'm breaking it, we would lose at least tens of thousands of Galleons."

Harry thought of the Order. There were priceless heirlooms lying around everywhere in the Black Hole. And besides, Dumbledore drew salary from three prestigious positions; and as old as he was, if he'd made any long-term investments in his youth, he'd be rich.

"Why do you have potions?" Harry asked. "I thought Greengrass was all about farming."

"Folio diversification and vertical merging," she said. "I've also had business tutors. The potion the man contracted for is called the Berserker Potion; it causes extreme aggression, strength, and pain tolerance."

"The Acromantula."

"Exactly. Or, almost exactly. The potion is designed to work on humans only, and modifying it to affect beasts – or, rather, Acromantula in particular – is not easy. Our potioneer said that it's about N.E.W.T. standard."

"The man could be working with a potions expert," Harry said.

"He could not. Our EULA is airtight; the best logomachs in the world wrote it up. He couldn't have discussed it with anyone, on pain of death. He modified and brewed it himself."

"So he's a Potions expert as well as everything else," Harry said, running his hands through his hair. "Great. How many people are out there with Potions N.E.W.T.s?"

"Lots," Daphne said. "My family has investigated quite thoroughly, since we would likely be held criminally liable if this got out. That's why you mustn't tell anyone. We've looked through all Hogwarts graduates in the past fifty years. None matches his description. Either he's foreign or self-taught."

"His accent's British," Harry said.

"That's helpful," Daphne said. "I'll pass that along. We have one other lead. Anyone who wants the Berserker Potion and won't give a name is trouble, so we hit him with a Tracking Charm before he left."

"You know where he went?"

Daphne pulled out a map of Britain on which numbered crosses were scattered. "He rapidly teleported – probably by Apparition – between these locations in this order, probably to shake off all pursuit. The last one was here, in London." She tapped the cross labelled 8, and the map zoomed in, showing street names and numbers. "Outside Number Eleven, Grimmauld Place. A few seconds later, the Charm fizzled, indicating he went somewhere the Charm couldn't follow: some sort of privacy enchantment, probably."

So. A member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper and the only one who could have authorised him to know its location.

"And I see that means something to you," Daphne said. "Interesting."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked.

"Of the people you saved today, one was a brunette, a third-year Slytherin," Daphne said. "She suffered second-degree burns. Her name is Astoria Greengrass." Her poker face slipped for a moment, and her eyes shone. "No-one hurts my sister. He is going down, and I don't care who gets the reward and fame."

"I don't either," Harry said truthfully.

"Then describe him to me," Daphne said, taking a quill, inkpot, and roll of parchment from a pocket. "I'll pass it back to our investigators. It can only help."

"Well, er," Harry said. "He was tall."

"Can you be more specific?" Daphne asked.

"Maybe six four? And thin; I'd guess maybe a hundred and sixty pounds…"

He went through everything as honestly as he could. She thanked him and rolled up the scroll.

"By the way," she added, "you like Hagrid, don't you?"

"Do you know where he is?" Harry asked eagerly. "How do you know before I do?"

"Davis' family deals in info," Daphne said. "They make sure to sell it while it's hot. It'll be all over the school by this time tomorrow. He's dead."

Harry just blinked. "What, Hagrid? He's not…"

"He was found on the lower slopes of Mount Khumbila, Nepal, by a local photographer looking for giants. The photographer, incidentally, didn't find any; they've apparently left, for destinations unknown. Hagrid looked like he had been beaten to death by one. If it's any consolation, he died doing what he loved." Daphne unlocked the door. "I'm sorry," she added, and left.

.. ... ...

Harry stared after her for long minutes.

_Voldemort._

_Now's not really the best time –_

_Hagrid's dead, Voldemort. What happened?_

_Hagrid? I guess he went looking for giants and found them._

_You had someone there too, didn't you, to try to win them over to your side._

_I did. My agent knew there was someone from the Order competing with him, but never saw him. He would have told me if he'd caught anyone, so I assume it was the giants._

_Why do you want anything that would be so senseless as to kill someone like Hagrid for no reason!_

_For the same reason I use Death Eaters, who also kill indiscriminately. Because the Light families are all wrapped around Dumbledore's thin, spidery fingers, and my choice of allies is sociopaths or nobody._

_They're not even –_

_Why are you angry at me, Harry? I didn't send your friend into what was obviously a dangerous situation, alone. I didn't even know about him. If you want closure, it won't come from me. And, as I said, this is a bad time. I'm in the middle of a meeting with my reclaimed Death Eaters._

… _Fine._

Harry broke off the connection, pulled out his mirror, and summoned Sirius.

"'Lo, Harry," Sirius said. "Are you alright?"

"No," Harry said. "Hagrid's dead."

"What?" Sirius asked. "Where did you hear this? I haven't even–"

"From Daphne Greengrass, who heard it from the Davises, who are information dealers. What the _hell_, Sirius, why am I hearing about him from a chain of Slytherins instead of the Order?"

"Wait, hold up," Sirius said. "The Davises? I've never heard of them. Are you sure this information is accurate?"

"Er," Harry said, the wind slackening in his sails. "The Davises. As in, Tracey Davis. She's in my year."

"In Slytherin," Sirius said. "Do you trust her?"

"I – I trust Daphne. She has a sort of code of honour, I think. A mercenary one, but … and she said Davis sold the information. I can't imagine they'd do that if they weren't confident about it."

"Davis," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Actually, I think I do remember that. Mary Davis, she was the Muggle woman who married Creothesus Sydale. That was a scandal among purebloods, because Sydale was pureblood for a few generations before then. Tracey might have heard it from them."

"Do the Sydales deal in information?" Harry asked.

"Probably," Sirius said. "They're a well-known crime family."

"So why didn't the Order send someone with Hagrid," Harry said, "so we could keep up with him faster than the Slytherin mob!"

"I don't know, Harry. We wanted to send someone along with him, preferably another half-giant, but we could only find Madame Maxime, and she doesn't believe Voldemort's back." He scowled. "And neither does that Delacour girl, either; apparently she had a fight and broke up with Bill over it. Good riddance, really, but it meant we were short-handed and had to send Hagrid on alone."

"Into _giant_ territory?!" Harry shouted.

"Are you inside?" Sirius hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

"Into giant territory?" Harry repeated at lower volume. "Are you insane?"

"Getting to Nepal takes months. We couldn't spare another person gone for that long. Harry, he knew the risks when he –"

Harry furiously stuffed the mirror back into his purse.

_.. ... ..._

_The Daily Prophet_

_Hogsmeade Burns_

_Motion of No Confidence in Minister Defeated_

_Lucius Malfoy Bails Out Magical Britain Again, Lauded as National Hero_

_Page 38_

_Hogwarts Gamekeeper Dies in Nepal_

_.. ... ..._

_The Quibbler_

_Dumbledore's Son Commits Arson, Mass Murder, is Unregistered Animagus_

_Special Editorial: Father of a Scarred, Beautiful Girl_

_.. ... ..._

_Witch Weekly_

_Draco Malfoy: The Brave New Byronic Boy on the Block_

_Harry Potter's Caliginous Flame?_

_.. ... ..._

_The Daily Prophet, one day later_

_The Marionette Man: Britain's Most Wanted_

_Fudge Apologises for Blaming Dumbledore for Hogsmeade Arson_

_Home-schooling Surge_

_.. ... ..._

_The Daily Prophet, one week later_

_Appleby Arrows Annihilate Falmouth Falcons_

_Dumbledore Urges ICW to Find Giants_

_ICW Not Interested_

.. ... ...

Life went on.

All of the teachers except Snape let them off the next week's homework; Snape, of course, would as happily gnaw off his own leg. Professor Grubbly-Plank accepted her teaching role permanently; Filch accepted the extra duties of being gamekeeper until a replacement for that could be found. Cornfoot, a Ravenclaw, was heard saying how glad he was they would have a chance of passing and indeed surviving their Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L.s; Ron thumped him, only to be blasted by Kevin, who had a good arsenal and a better aim.

"Entwhistle!" Llywarch snapped.

"He was assaulting my House mate," Kevin said, keeping his wand out.

"Who insulted Hagrid," Harry said. He was quivering with rage barely held in check; Hermione and Neville held an arm each.

"Run, Hermione, we'll hold the troll off," Ron said, dazed. Lavender put her palm to his forehead; Dean flipped her hand over.

"What are you, four?" Kevin replied. "You don't hit someone because he _says_ something you don't like."

He was the most anti-Gryffindor of the Ravenclaws, but the others were nodding along. Dean and Seamus moved to back Harry up.

"Can we start the lesson yet?" Llywarch asked. "I don't mean to interrupt if you're having fun, but, you know, I thought maybe we could try learning. I had the impression that's what school was for. I might be wrong, though; Snapie tells me it's more about taking points and giving detentions."

Kevin shrugged, pocketed his wand, and returned to the cluster of Ravenclaws. Hermione tried to calm Harry and Ron, when he came to his wits, but neither could focus, and both were lucky they didn't Splinch themselves. By now almost everyone could Apparate at will, and Llywarch had relegated Apparition practice to a biweekly affair, polishing their technique in the lead-up to the exam, while they began their unit on concealment magic.

"What a git," Ron said afterwards, adding some more language he'd heretofore reserved for Malfoy.

"Which, Stephen or Kevin?" Hermione asked. "Also, you probably shouldn't say that sort of thing in front of a prefect."

"All of them! They're as bad as Slytherins. _Maybe now we'll pass our O.W.L.s; indeed, at the very worst we'll at least survive them_ … who says that about a teacher who died trying to fight You-Know-Who!"

"They don't know about Voldemort," Hermione said apologetically, although Harry had noticed her shooting conciliatory looks to the Ravenclaws too. "And they got off to a bad start with Hagrid; they heard about the time Malfoy was hurt second-hand, mostly from the Slytherins, and then there were those Blast-Ended Skrewts…"

At which Ron cast her an arctic look and power-walked ahead back to the castle.

"I never said I agreed with them!" she shouted at him. "You asked why they – oh, forget it!"

She glanced at Harry, who was still fuming but not at her. No-one else was within earshot. "Harry … I was thinking about that _Quibbler_ article."

This surprised him out of his rage. "I thought you thought that magazine was rubbish?"

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," she said. "I borrowed Morag's copy. If the red-haired man was Dumbledore's son, that would fit. Think about it. His hair was auburn before it went grey. Suppose Dumbledore didn't want to let anyone see his son because he looks weird and spidery, or because he's deranged, or maybe he's illegitimate or some other reason, and raised him in secret. Dumbledore could definitely have taught him how to conjure Fiendfyre and how to duel. Snape could have supplied that potion, and he would have had access to Hogwarts to summon the Acromantula."

And according to Daphne, he had to modify the potion so must have been taught potions, in which Dumbledore of course had an Outstanding N.E.W.T.; plus he had access to the Black Hole. It would also explain why he chose to keep his name secret when buying the Berserker.

"It'd be pretty lucky the _Quibbler_ would happen to guess that right," Harry said, "given how bizarre most of their stories are."

"Sharpshooter's Fallacy," Hermione said. "To count as lucky, it's not a question of whether this one story is true. They must have printed thousands of stories over the years; eventually they're bound to get something right."

Harry took out his mirror.

"'Lo, Pup," Sirius said. The backdrop was a bright sky; people on broomsticks whizzed past overhead. "What calls?"

"You still get the _Quibbler_, don't you?" Harry asked. "Did you see that big piece saying the Marionette Man was Dumbledore's son?"

"It was on their front cover," Sirius said. "Pretty hard to miss, really. And I asked him about it."

Harry's anger, never far from the surface these days, flared up irrationally. He, Harry, lived in the very same castle as Dumbledore, yet hadn't received so much as a smile all year, whereas Sirius was bouncing around London and could find the time to discuss _Quibbler_ articles.

"He said he thought he'd remember having a son," Sirius went on obliviously. "You said he looked about thirty, right? Dumbledore said he was quite certain he couldn't have had any children within anything like the past thirty years. You didn't actually believe something in the _Quibbler_, do you? It's for reading and laughing about, not believing."

"It seemed to fit," Harry said. "I mean, Dumbledore apparently had red hair, and is powerful enough…"

"Yeah, but he doesn't have the evil gene," Sirius said. "Have you considered whether it might be Voldemort's son, heh?"

"I'll get right on that," Harry said, and soon hung up.

_Hey Voldemort, the Marionette Man isn't your son, is he?_

_If he is, Bella has some _serious_ explaining to do._

_Didn't need to hear that._

"So you can see the obvious loopholes in what Sirius said," Hermione said.

"What, such as that Dumbledore could have just been lying?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, frowning, "but the way Sirius said it … it sounded like one of those lying while telling the truth things. He didn't outright deny it, just said he would have remembered it. I can see two possible workarounds. One, the son could be much older, say, fifty, and just look young for his age; or he might have been put into some sort of temporal stasis."

"Is that even possible?" Harry asked.

"For Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

.. ... ...

The teachers refused to let the fire destroy morale as well as everything else, and school soon continued apace. In particular, Quidditch continued, although all the teams had sustained injuries.

The Gryffindors had taken three notable injuries: Cormac, Ginny, and Jack. Cormac and Jack had been in a building which had collapsed on them, and barely survived; both were still in Saint Mungo's. Fiendfyre being cursed, medical magic had only a limited effect. Ginny had bad burns which had somehow caused atrophy around her torso and right arm; she could still fly and was in fact encouraged to, as the exercise would help rebuild her muscle, but she was weakened, and Angelina rotated her onto reserves.

"Using reserves has paid off already," she said. "Slytherin can't even field a full team; two of their players were hurt at the Hogsmeade Fire."

Ginny frowned. She was obviously unhappy about the prospect of beating Slytherin because Malfoy had gotten himself cooked protecting her.

"Let's not get cocky," Harry said, "we haven't won yet."

In particular, Ron was still subject to stage fright. Once, after he particularly annoyed Hermione, she retaliated by suggesting to Angelina that she invite the entire House to a practice to help him get over his nerves; he crashed into the stands five minutes in and didn't talk to her for a full week after.

"I'm sure you'll get over your performance anxiety eventually," she said brightly, just before Defence, causing Su, Padma and Kevin to snigger and Ron to turn scarlet and drop his bag.

Eventually came all too soon, though, and the match was held on a grim, drizzling day in November. Ron looked like a man heading to the gallows as he followed the team out of the Great Hall.

"Chin up, Ron," Angelina said.

"You can't screw up too bad," said Fred.

"Touch wood," said George; each tapped the other's broom.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Bet you'll catch aaall the Snitches."

Katie gave him a sideways look. "You do realise Keepers don't care about the Snitch, right?"

"Also, they're supposed to block, more so than catch," Fred said.

They stopped dead and looked at Harry.

"Whuh? Whuzzup?" he asked.

"Slurred speech," Alicia said. She peered into Harry's face at close range; he flinched backward, fell on his butt, dropped his Firebolt, and began giggling. "Dilated pupils, delayed reflexes, no balance, and he's a giggling idiot. I wonder what this could be."

"Sounds like C-88," Katie said. "Er. Not that I've ever taken it."

"Oh, this is just bloody wonderful," Angelina snarled. "Right before a match? Since when do you get nervous? You've been doing this for three years!"

"Maybe he was drugged again?" Alicia suggested.

"Who bloody cares," Angelina said. "Katie, find Ginny and Hermione Granger. Tell Ginny she's up, and Granger to take care of this moron. If you can't find Granger in five minutes, forget it."

Alicia frowned as Katie hurried back. "Don't get so angry. It's not his fault."

"At this point, I don't give a damn whether it's his fault," Angelina growled. "What matters is that right now, he's in no condition to Seek, and I have to use a worse and injured player in a crucial match."

Ginny and Hermione, wearing red and gold scarves, came up with Katie.

"Harry's stoned; Ginny, I need you to Seek," Angelina said, too angry for niceties.

"Um," Ginny said, looking down at Harry. "Okay. I'll run and grab my broom."

"You might as well borrow Harry's," Hermione said. "A Firebolt is better than a … than yours, isn't it?"

They considered this.

"Would you mind?" Ginny asked Harry.

"Hee hee hee!" Harry said.

"Sounds like a no," she said, and took the Firebolt. "Wish I'd practised with it before."

"Just mind you don't crash," Angelina said, leading the team off. Ron dawdled.

"Are you alright with him?" he asked Hermione.

"I'll take him back to Gryffindor and let him sleep it off," she said.

"I ent spleepy," Harry said.

Hermione fingered her wand. "Oh, you will be. Go on, Ron. The team needs you."

"Right," he said. "Wish me luck."

"Best of luck," she said lightly, and Ron headed off. She hoisted Harry to his feet and put one of his arms over her shoulders to support him.

"Can we go and see the game?" he asked her. "I'm the Seeker."

"Yes, absolutely," she lied. "We just need to take a little detour to the kitchens first."

"Kitchens?" he asked. "Are we getting more food? We just had breakfast."

"Not quite," she said. "First, we're avoiding anyone who might see you like this. Second, we're finding out how exactly you were drugged. Someone must have seen where you were sitting, run down, and Switched the drug into the corresponding plate in the kitchen; they would have been seen if they'd tried it from the Great Hall. Half the school had already left to get good seats, so we can't just ask who wasn't there, but the House-elves must have seen something."

"H'whuh?" Harry asked.

"We're going for a walk first," she abridged.

He leant against her heavily as they walked down the empty stone corridors, and watched the paintings with interest before turning back to her.

"You're really pretty," she said.

"I'd be a whole lot more pleased that you said that if you weren't three sheets to the wind right now," Hermione replied.

"I didn' say it, but I thought it at the You Ball," he said.

"Being drugged to the gills, I daresay you think it about everything with breasts," Hermione replied, "and probably plenty of those without, too."

"Well I never kissed Daphne, even though she was pretty too."

"String them together, and answer me this," Hermione recited, "what creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"

He took her wrists and, with surprising agility, pushed her against the wall and kissed her. She let him for a minute, then pulled a hand free, drew her wand, and Stunned him.

He woke up in a cosy little sitting room with a crackling fire, lying on a reclined chair. Hermione was opposite him, an Arithmancy essay and two reference books laid out on a table.

"I thought you'd appreciate waking up by yourself," she said. "It's bad to mix too much magic with that sort of potion … and I probably would have Stunned you again right after anyway."

"What happened?" he asked, and the memories came back. "I … I kissed … oh, god, I'm so sorry."

"I do apologise for your sufferings," Hermione said.

"No, you, I –"

Hermione was smirking. "I didn't _mind_, Harry. You were drugged, after all. Besides, it's you."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Harry asked.

Hermione winked. "I do hope for your future girlfriend's sake, though, that you have better technique when you're sober."

He sank his head into his hands, refusing to look at her. "Why don't I have a headache this time?"

"Probably a lower dose," she said. "Or you might have built up some tolerance, or it might just be that you weren't Portkeyed anywhere this time. Are you lucid enough to analyse it, or would you prefer to snog again?"

"I'll go with the analysis," Harry said.

"And people say I'm no fun," she said. "My best guess would be that after the Hogsmeade Fire, Fudge has been looking to cling to power with the tips of his fingers, so he needs to make Dumbledore look stupid. You're an obvious target, so he sent an agent to drug you before a Quidditch game. I'm afraid it'll probably be tomorrow's headline."

"That's not what matters most," Harry said. "Who won? Is the game still going?"

He checked his watch: four p.m. Hermione rolled her eyes. "No; you could hear the cheers and catcalls from here, but they stopped about an hour ago. Lavender told me at lunch that the score was 350-100 to Slytherin when she left. She looked sadder than after the Hogsmeade Fire."

Harry stared. "Ron let in _thirty-five goals_?"

"Yes," Hermione said, with a slightly vacant look that meant she was desperately trying not to laugh. "I suppose their brooms must have just been too much. The Slytherins began cheering for Ron ten minutes in," she added, her mouth twitching. "I could hear it from here."

"Where are we, anyway?"

"A little bolthole on the third floor," Hermione said. "Tonks showed me it. Apparently the Hufflepuffs all know about it. It locks from the inside."

Harry slumped. "Two hundred and fifty points…"

"Really?" Hermione asked. "The Minister for Magic has you drugged again, and you're more worried about losing a game you didn't even play?"

"I do play Quidditch," Harry corrected. "It's still my team, even if I wasn't in this match."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Getting back to important matters, after our goodnight kiss, I levitated you down to the kitchens, where I found Tonks, lying unconscious in the hallway. Apparently she can't hold alternate forms when Stunned.

"I woke her, and she said she'd seen something odd from the Great Hall and gone to investigate. It looked like a person under a Disillusionment Charm. She followed them down to the kitchens and hit them with a spell breaker; the person turned and Stunned her. However, she said she remembered the person as being Fudge's personal secretary."

"Figures," Harry said. "Two hundred and fifty points…"

"Can we go back to teasing you for kissing me yet?" Hermione asked.


	11. Third Time's the Charm

_The Daily Prophet_

_Harry Potter's Dirty Habit Continues_

_Lucius Malfoy: 'I will never run for Minister'_

_Experts Blame Poor Economy on 'Excessive Celebrity Culture'_

_.. ... ..._

"What do you mean, off the team?"

"I mean exactly what I say," Angelina said.

It was breakfast the next morning. She'd intercepted him just outside the Great Hall to avoid a scene; Peeves was juggling some young Slytherins' porridge bowls at the other end of the corridor, so they were pretty safe.

"I _told_ you, I didn't do anything!" Harry said. "Professor Llywarch outright told me she saw a Ministry goon going to spike my food!"

Angelina folded her arms. "Look, at this point, it doesn't matter whether it was you or yet another conspiracy floating around you. She didn't catch this goon, who is still at large, right? Do you have any evidence that he won't strike again?"

"I'll be more careful in future," Harry said.

"How? Are you going to have Granger taste-test all your food half an hour before you eat it?" Angelina asked.

"The Creeveys would probably volunteer," Harry said to himself. "Why half an hour? The effects are immediate, or at least within five minutes."

"Because Glitterjuice takes about that long to take effect," Angelina said, "and I reckon they'd be willing to use that, assuming it really is someone from the Ministry."

"It is!"

"So do you have any proof that it won't happen again, and cost me another match?" Angelina asked. "Because Ginny missed two early catches which would have won it, and she could have made them if she'd spent just a little more time training as Seeker." Harry bit his lip. "I didn't think so. Sorry, Harry. You've been a great help to the team before. But if you can't sort your personal life out, you're a liability."

"Do you think you'll still have a chance at the Cup?" Harry asked.

Angelina gave a dark snort. "No. We lost that match 520-300, even with the Snitch. Slytherin will beat Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff easily. Even if they don't, if maybe one of the others gets an early Snitch, they're too far ahead on points. As for us" she shrugged helplessly "I'm no Wood."

"You're not giving up after one loss?" Harry said.

"Remember how we barely won in third year," she said, " with seven good players and a Firebolt, after losing one game, by only one hundred points? The tournament may be a round robin, but it's barely more forgiving than elimination, you know that. Right now, I don't have much choice but to do what I can to groom our team for after I'm gone. I'm going to hold more tryouts and get some younger players in."

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer.

"Fine," he said. "It's been fun, Angelina."

"I do hope you sort your problems out," she said. "I'll recommend to McGonagall to consider you for captain next year."

"I'll loan Ginny my Firebolt," he said. "Someone might as well get some use out of it."

"Thanks," Angelina said.

"Don't worry about it," he said, and that was that.

.. ... ...

"Look on the bright side," Hermione said that evening in the common room, "you said you didn't have enough time to do all your homework, you'll have plenty now. We could work on that Charms worksheet now."

They looked to Harry's right, where Ron would normally tell her that Harry had been hoping for something that would make him feel better, as opposed to worse. Ron hadn't said a word all day, and Harry wasn't sure he'd eaten anything, either.

"I can't believe how awful I am," Ron murmured to himself.

"You didn't look this bad when the Dementors searched the train, back in third year," Hermione said, as though not quite certain he wasn't self-parodying.

"Why would I feel bad then?" he asked, still not looking up. "They just make you remember your worst moments. I've just _lived_ mine. Fifty-two goals … Neville would have done better."

"Did someone say my name?" Neville asked, walking up.

"We were about to start on Charms; we thought you might want to join us," Harry said.

Neville's face lit up. "I love to!" He sat beside them and pulled his homework from his bag. "I'm sure I copied the wand movements down wrong, when I tried to Silence my frog it started meowing at me. And speaking of Charms … Ron, I think I've worked out what went wrong when we tried Black's revelation charm."

"Possibly the part where you Transfigured yourself into a goat?" Harry suggested.

"Nyan," said Crookshanks. He wound about Harry's legs and leapt up onto his lap; Harry began scratching behind his ears.

"A half-goat," Neville corrected. "And yeah, we were using a Transfigurative modus; it called for a Charms-based one. I'm pretty sure it might work now. Although, Hermione, it'd be great if you could look over…"

Hermione looked to Ron; he shook his head. "We have to do this by ourselves," he said. "We're not going to have Hermione holding our hands in the real world."

"Does that mean you'll stop trying to copy my homework?" she asked rhetorically.

"Hey, Harry," Neville said, "do you want to try with us, then? We haven't gotten anywhere over the last two months, you won't need to catch up, and…"

By his expression, he'd realised too late that reminding Harry that he no longer had to worry about Quidditch practice wouldn't be very tactful.

"Well," Harry said. His Occlumency had progressed steadily, and he could now block out Voldemort's mental shouts even while twirling Hermione around the dance floor to the thundering music of _Ride of the Valkyries_; Voldemort pronounced him competent, although noting that a face-to-face confrontation would be a better final exam. "It would be cool to pull it off, and I suppose I have the time now…"

"If you're just looking for something to do, you could always read through my third-year Arithmancy notes," Hermione offered. "It's really a very interesting subject. Or, Su says Charms Club is fun…"

Harry gave this due consideration. "I'm in," he said to Neville. "When do we do it?"

Crookshanks got up, gave him a disgusted look, and sat on Hermione's lap instead.

.. ... ...

Ron chose their room this time, an empty classroom on the sixth floor, which had been used to teach Telekinesis before it was merged with Charms eight years prior. There were storage crates full of assorted objects all along one wall: plush dolls and inflatable balls for harmless beginner practice, as well as calligraphy pens for fine motor control, lead blocks covered in springs for strength, and a dozen gyroscopes for balance. The last crate was labelled KNIVES – N.E.W.T. STUDENTS ONLY – HANDLE WITH CAUTION but, sensibly, was empty.

"Right," Harry said, reading over Sirius' and Neville's notes. "This isn't just Charms and Transfig, but there's also some Divination … as taught a generation ago, when they apparently had a real teacher."

"Blimey," Ron said. "When even is photomancy?"

"I think the individual parts are about O.W.L.-level," Neville said, "it's combining them that makes it that much harder."

"Well, there are three subfields, and three of us," Harry said. "Shall we try dividing the spell up that way?"

"Dibs on not being Divination," Ron said.

"Um, maybe I shouldn't do that either," Neville said, "I barely passed last year."

They exchanged glances.

"It doesn't look too difficult," Harry said at last. "And if it doesn't work, that part will probably have the least bad side effects. I'll do it."

"I don't really mind which I do, as long as it's not Divination," Neville said.

"I'm no good at Transfig," Ron said. "I'll take the Charms part."

A little voice in Harry's head told him that any plan which assumed that Ron would perform a difficult Charm perfectly and that Neville would perform some difficult Transfiguration perfectly and that he could perform photomancy, a subject he'd first heard about mere minutes earlier, all at the same time, was probably a bad plan.

"Are you _sure_ we shouldn't at least tell one of the teachers what we're doing?" he asked.

"We have to grow up sometime," Ron said. "Don't chicken out now. We can do this."

"You said that last time," Neville said.

"To be fair, I could hardly have foreseen those idiot Slytherins bursting in and hexing the potion," Ron said. "Come on, on the count of three. One – two – three. _Video, potesse, per oculis_…"

Neville began waving his wand fast, and a little too emphatically. Harry's feeling of impending doom kicked up a notch.

"Slow down, both of you," Harry said. "Neville, keep those motions tight."

"I'm barely keeping up with Ron as it is," he said, beginning to sweat.

"I can't _go_ any slower," Ron said.

"_Don't __stop__ the spell_!" Harry said.

"What? Oh, ah, _nobis animalia, alter quam_ –"

Neville moved his wandtip left when he should have moved it right.

Harry leapt out of range. "_Stop the spell! Stop the spell_!"

He was too late. There was a flash of light; when Harry's eyes cleared, he saw the most bizarre sight since Malfoy had Transfigured Neville's mouth sideways on their first Monday back. Neville and Ron had somehow fused their bodies. Both heads grew from the one double-thick torso, with Neville's behind and to the left of Ron's; below that was a squid-like mass of limbs sprouting in all directions. Their robes had somehow adjusted themselves around their new shape, but poorly; they were badly stretched, especially around what was probably Neville's leg, growing from just under their right armpit.

"…" Harry said.

"What in Merlin's name," Ron said, looking himself over. One of the arms twitched and slapped at a leg; the leg kicked back. They fell over onto their back.

"Ouch!" said Neville.

"Okay, no-one panic," Harry said. "We can sort this out. You've just … it _looks_ like some sort of Switching Spell cascade. How did you even … no, I don't want to know. Whose limbs are whose?"

They spent the next few minutes trying to sort whatever had happened out, but it quickly became apparent that he was way out of his depth.

"I know when I'm beaten," Harry said. "I'm going to find McGonagall. Don't do any more magic; you might just tangle yourselves up worse."

"Of course not," Ron said. "We're not stupid."

Harry swept his gaze over them dispassionately.

"Of course not," he said, and turned and left. "Hey!"

Immediately outside were Malfoy and Ginny. Ginny was backed against a wall, trapped by one of Malfoy's hands under either shoulder; she held his lapels in one hand. They were glaring daggers at one another. They didn't even break off their staring match to identify him.

"Sod off, Pothead," Malfoy said.

"Oh, that's original," Ginny said. "You changed a _syllable_! You realise that puts you as Malformed, don't you?"

"Those who live in glass houses, Sheasley," Malfoy said.

Harry shoved him away from Ginny, who promptly rounded on him. "I don't need you _white knighting_ after me," she said. "I can deal with him myself!"

"No, you can't," Harry said.

"Truest thing he's ever said," Malfoy agreed.

"Shut up!" Ginny and Harry snapped.

"What are you even doing here?" Harry asked. "Don't you usually need at least two catamites with you at all times?"

Hermione had mentioned the word a few days previously; Harry had resolved to use it at the first opportunity. To his irritation, Malfoy gave no sign of not knowing what it meant.

"We were having a civil discussion about the weather, if you must know," said Malfoy. "And while having friends is nice – you should try it sometime – I do have a life of my own. Which you should also try sometime."

"Harry!" came Neville's voice from the TK room. "Time is of the essence! He keeps poking me!"

"That's because I have two people's weight on that arm," Ron said. "Let's roll over onto the front." Pause. "Ow!"

"What on God's green Earth?" Malfoy asked, and started towards the door; Harry kicked it shut and stood in front of it.

"None of your business, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Is that Ron and Neville?" Ginny asked. "Were they trying the Animagus spell again?"

"_Those_ lunkheads thought they could become _Animagi_?" Malfoy asked. "You're joking, right?"

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Let me in, I want to see," said Ginny.

"Not with _him_ here!" Harry said.

"Why not?" asked Malfoy, assuming puppy-dog eyes. "I want to see too."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry and Ginny shouted again.

"Is that Malfoy?" came Ron's voice.

"Oh, God," said Neville.

"What are you – no, Neville, not without McGonag–"

There came a sound like _kwungwungwungwung__-__waaah_.

"Neville," came Ron's voice, sounding like he'd inhaled helium, "you're an _idiot_."

"I'm so sorry," said Neville, his voice also oddly high-pitched.

"Okay, now I've _got_ to see," said Ginny.

"You and me both, Sheasley," said Malfoy.

"I'm not letting either of you through while he's here," Harry said.

"I want you to know this hurts me more than it hurts you," said Ginny, and drew her wand. "_Vespertilimucus_!"

The hex hit Harry in the chest; his nose began running, his snot turning into bats, which crawled out of his nose and began dive-bombing him. He stumbled back, swatting at them; Malfoy nudged him aside and opened the door to look in.

Harry finally got his own wand out. "_Nihilimucus_." The bats turned into little clumps of hair and fell to the ground, leaving him free to see Ginny, who was staring in disbelief, Malfoy, who looked like all his Christmases had come at once, and Neville-Ron, who were now inflated like a balloon three yards across and wedged against the roof, their limbs sticking out at odd angles.

"… And here I thought today couldn't possibly get any better," said Malfoy.

"Yeah," said Ginny.

"Malfoy, _get out_," said Ron, some of the force of his snarl voided by his falsetto voice.

"If you insist," Malfoy said. He took two steps backward, his gaze and grin never wavering, and pulled out his wand. "_Sonorus_. HEAR YE, HEAR YE. NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM AND RONALD WEASLEY HAVE TURNED THEMSELVES INTO A … I DON'T THINK THERE'S EVEN A WORD FOR WHAT THEY'VE TURNED THEMSELVES INTO. YOU REALLY HAVE TO SEE FOR YOURSELVES. ON THE SIXTH FLOOR CORRIDOR, IN THE FORMER TELEKINESIS CLASSROOM. COME ONE, COME ALL."

"What's going on?" asked a voice from Harry's left; he turned and saw Lavender, who was with Hannah Abbott, three other Hufflepuff girls, and Parvati.

Malfoy cancelled his Amplification Charm. "Step right up, ladies," he said, making an ingratiating bow, "step right up."

"You're such a suck," Ginny told him, as the girls crowded around to ogle.

"Harry, help," Neville said pitifully.

Snape came striding into view from the opposite end of the corridor. "What's all this nonsense?" he asked.

"Weasley and Longbottom were conducting experiments into Animagus transformations," Malfoy said promptly. "I'm pretty sure it's against school rules, and may even be illegal. We should collect photographic evidence before anything else."

"Quite right," said Snape with a nod of approval. "That sort of rigorous thinking is why you're a Prefect, after all. Creevey!"

"I'm on it, sir," said the boy, his camera already in hand.

Harry sank his head into his hands. "Today's experiment…"

.. ... ...

They decided to shelve work into the Animagus transformation after that, which was just as well, as the lead-up to the holidays was marked by a sizeable increase in homework. Hermione was quite sympathetic after she got over her first, protracted bout of laughter, and often worked with all three of them through their assignments, occasionally crossing the library floor to work with the Ravenclaws on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. The Ravenclaws were in disgustingly high spirits, for they had just beaten Hufflepuff at Quidditch. Just about the only exception was Kevin, who didn't follow the sport.

"Not liking Quidditch is not something to bond over!" Harry said.

"I don't see why not," said Hermione. "I mean, you've both made lots of friends out of being on the team; why shouldn't I make some of my own my own way?"

"Because he's a tosser?" Ron suggested.

The weather grew steadily colder, and snow settled over Hogwarts. Hedwig happily swooped about, nigh invisible when still, looking for mice in the Forbidden Forest, and occasionally delivering packages of mince pies from Mrs. Weasley. They had tried using the family owls at first, in a fit of independent pride, but had to bow to reality after Pigwidgeon proved too small to carry more than one pie at a time and Errol got confused and delivered one package to the Lovegoods.

Professor Llywarch took them down to Hogsmeade on the last Thursday of term, where they were to have their tests for provisional Apparition licences. The village was in much better shape, almost back to its original cheer, and with significantly more brick buildings than wooden ones. Obnoxiously, there was a ten-foot gold-plated statue of Lucius Malfoy in the centre square with a commemorative plaque.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Malfoy said loudly. "He tells me he now owns a majority stake in everything."

"That's because he's a braggart and a liar," Hermione said, "which, apparently, is genetic."

"Alright, settle down, twerplings," said Llywarch, sitting side-saddle on a school broom, wearing a military-style khaki camouflage cloak and holding a clipboard. "This is your Apparition exam; if you pass this, not only do you get a huge chunk of bonus marks for Defence, but you also get prolifical Apparition licences until you're old enough for full ones. These are new and being rolled out on a trial basis, so pretty please try not to Splinch yourselves!

"The objection is simple: Apparate to the field around the Shrieking Shack. After that, to the train station. After that, back here. If you can do all three in under a minute each without any Splinches, you pass. We'll be going in groups of ten, so you're less likely to collide, in alphanormal order. Any questions?"

A Hufflepuff boy raised his hand.

"Shut up, Hopkins," she said. "Abbott through Davis, line up here so I can tick you off. And remember, destination, determination – double the determination – and deliberation!"

They disappeared with a flurry of cracks. Llywarch must have given them rests between each hop, because it wasn't until four minutes later that they began popping back in. She was first, followed by Davis, a flurry of Ravenclaw boys, and a trickle of five more students. That only made nine. Llywarch looked down at her stopwatch.

"Aaand that's a minute," she said. "I thought Brocklehurst was looking peaky. I'll pick her up on the next run through. Congratulations! You all pass!"

They cheered and hugged one another.

"Next group!" Llywarch said. "Entwhistle through MacDougal!"

Mandy Brocklehurst and Goyle were the only two not to pass; when Brocklehurst saw she was in the same league as Goyle of all people, she broke down in tears, and even the combined efforts of her housemates were inadequate to console her.

"I'm so stupid," she sobbed, "I should've been put in Hufflepuff."

"Don't even say that," Kevin said soothingly, "to be a Hufflepuff, you need to fail _far_ more than just one exam."

"Excuse me," said Ernie Macmillan, "but all ten of us passed, if you didn't notice."

"Yes," said Kevin, "and I'll bet you'll all pass your Muggle Studies exams too. It's not exactly a level playing field."

"Muggle Studies is a wholly respectable subject," Ernie said with dignity.

"It's been two and a half years," said Kevin, who was a Muggle-born. "Have they mentioned forklifts yet?"

Ernie snorted elegantly. "I'll have you know that even the heaviest forks are _quite_ light enough to lift by hand, Entwhistle."

"Well, that wasn't too bad," said Hermione brightly, as they trooped back up to the castle. Unfortunately, they didn't have permission to wander around Hogsmeade; Llywarch couldn't be everywhere, and the Marionette Man was still out there. "Obviously, it was only short-distance, and the licences are quite restrictive, but it's certainly a start, isn't it? A good guide to how the full exam will be."

Llywarch had snapped their photos and given them cards to sign and carry, as well as legal disclaimers which nobody except Hermione and the Hufflepuffs really bothered to read, which explained in ponderous language that they were only to Apparate up to ten miles, no more than six times a day, with no alcohol or other intoxicants, and a host of other Byzantine regulations such as no Apparition from ten p.m. to seven a.m. except in Wales.

"I thought it'd be harder, to be honest," said Ron. "I remember Charlie failed his."

"The energy requirements vary as the square of the distance travelled," said Hermione; this apparently meant something to her. "As long as we keep it under ten miles per hop, it isn't too draining. Unless you're anaemic like Mandy."

"Or have a learning disability, like Goyle," agreed Ron.

Snape had a midyear exam too, which he hadn't warned them about but which was quite foreseeable for people who had known him for over four years. He spent the first ten minutes locking gazes with Harry and then Hermione, and awarded them two whole points for managing to keep his Legilimentic probes out, although he credited it to their 'improved stirring technique'. He subsequently deducted twenty points from Harry for wasting time staring rather than working on the set potion.

"I think he's starting to thaw out," Hermione said afterwards.

"That's because your potion didn't smell of sick," said Ron, who was among the eighty or so percent whose potions were less than perfect.

Sirius had invited them all back to the Black Hole for the Christmas break; the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione all accepted, and made the trek through the snow back to Hogsmeade station. It was surprisingly similar to the trips from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, with most of the students assembled. Rosie showed up again.

"Security is more important than ever," she said to Harry, "what with You-Know-Who, the Marionette Man, and Fudge all out to get you." Neville walked up, beaming.

"Rosie!" he said. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you lived in London."

"Oh, I've been a little closer-by recently," she said. "I've been helping out with the Hogsmeade reconstruction. My parents say it's important to have real-world projects in one's education, and there's a big difference between, you know, matchsticks to needles, and trying to fit a building together."

"Oh, are you doing volunteer work?" Neville asked. "That's really nice of you."

"Well," Rosie said, blushing. "I mean, we're all British, we're all in this together, right? And that fire sounded seriously nasty. Anyway, I'm dropping by for Christmas lunch with the Weasleys on Monday. Are you coming?"

"Er. Probably not, but I'll definitely try," Neville said. "My grandmother likes to network."

"Well, come and network with us then," Rosie said.

"What's this?" came an unwelcome voice. "Potter! Don't tell me someone actually wants you for once!"

"If you're curious what it's like, I could write you about it," Harry offered.

"No need," said Malfoy, "I'm better acquainted with it than any of you. Except possibly for you." He offered his hand and slickest smile to Rosie. "You know, I never got your name. Draco Malfoy."

She took it, her gaze shifting cautiously to the gang of Slytherins at his shoulders. "Rosie Lalor. I'm a distant relative of … well, all of us purebloods are related somehow, right?"

"Too true," said Malfoy.

"Being spoilt into a needy little whiner isn't what I'd call being wanted," Ron said.

Malfoy shrugged equably. "If the alternative is a father who won't even buy his own children new robes," he plucked at Ron's, which Fred had outgrown, "I'd call it the lesser of two evils, really."

Ron swatted him away. "Since yours probably stole the gold for it from an orphan, I'd call it the greater."

"Perhaps," said Malfoy. "Father wouldn't hesitate to break the law if that's what it took to properly care for his firstborn, certainly. Whereas yours won't even put in the extra mile to get promoted and get a sorely-needed rise!"

"Dad could get promoted any time," Ron snarled. "He just likes working in the Muggles office."

"Well, that's certainly an improvement," Malfoy said. "Rather than being too _lazy_ to care for you, he's simply too _self-absorbed_, prioritising have a _fun job_ over making sure his only daughter isn't reduced to standing on street corners like a Dickensian courtesan for pocket money. Hey, but don't worry about it; I tipped pretty well."

"_Vespertilimucus,_" said Ginny, wand in hand.

Malfoy dodged and strolled away, his gang laughing at the day's entertainment.

"I'm going to murder him," Ron said. "I'm going to sneak in his dorm at night with an ice pick, and I'm going to murder him."

"Take a number," said Ginny.

"What did he mean, anyway," Ron said, "standing on a street corner?"

"He was making stuff up to get to you," Ginny said, meeting Harry's eyes. Harry shrugged.

"So I'm sensing some hostility here," said Rosie, for Neville's benefit.

"He's the biggest git in our year," said Neville. "He's been shooting spitballs into our potions and breakfasts since our first year."

"Although that Entwhistle loser is a fair contender," said Ron.

Harry looked through the crowd, and saw Kevin with Davis and a bunch of Ravenclaws, deep in discussion. A few of them had notebooks out with lead pencils and were scribbling equations.

"If you model it around the Fischer-Griess monster, it'd have nice theoretical properties, but the energy requirements would be off the scale," said Kevin. "See? Forty-six."

"But the objective function should be the _amortised_ cost, surely?" asked Su.

"Nerds," said Ron, shaking his head.

_I've noticed Malfoy's been much more eloquent since last year,_ Harry thought.

_Mm. Wormtail mentioned that he was little more than a blithering bigoted idiot, so I suggested to Lucius that he invest in some tutelage in the art of oration._

_At least he's stopped just calling Hermione a Mudblood as though that had a built-in punchline. That was getting old._

_That's at least partly because she isn't any more. Dolohov, remember?_

_Oh yeah. Hey, you broke him out of Azkaban, didn't you? What did you tell him?_

"_Run with it. I have a cunning plan. Do not question me. Crucio."_

_Why do you torture your own followers, anyway?_

_Back in sixth year, I tried inviting the previous generation to a democratic round table wherein we would discuss our situation in a calm, civilised, non-hierarchical forum. There were snacks. I wound up suspended from the Quidditch goalposts by my underpants. Then I tried telling them what to do and cursing everyone who disagreed, and in days I had a cabal of fanatical minions who would follow me to the ends of the Earth and beyond._

…

_I know, right? Still, I'm nothing if not pragmatic._

Sirius was at King's Cross Station waiting for them, with Gigi, the girl from the Circus, and Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley immediately bustled forward to hug everyone, her quarrel with Hermione apparently forgotten.

"Did you get my pies?" she asked.

"See you in a few days, I hope," Rosie said flirtatiously to Neville, who blushed, stammered his own farewells, and went to meet his grandmother.

"Why were you hitting on him?" Harry asked Rosie quietly. "He's eight years younger than you."

"Because it's in character," she replied. "I'm young and carefree; of course I'm going to be looking for a boyfriend. What would be the good of constructing a personality and backstory if I acted exactly like my normal self? Also, it's funny."

"You have separate personalities for Rosie and Llywarch, and I'll bet those aren't your only alter egos," Harry said. "Which is your real one?"

Rosie just winked. "Shall we Apparate back?"

"I'll take Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley, "Sirius, you can take Harry–"

"No need," said Harry. He pulled out his Apparition licence. "We're licensed."

"Oh, that's so wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley.

"Good work," said Sirius, with a wink. "Go on ahead; I need to say goodbye to Gigi." Gigi winked at him.

Harry's first impression of the Black Hole was not unlike the Divination classroom. Incense was thick in the air, making Hermione sneeze; there were clay oil lamps set in braces in the walls; and cloth, somewhere between shawls and streamers, hung from the roof. The walls were tiled with mosaics of what looked like coloured glass in stylised profile-heavy artwork.

"What the?" he said.

"This is Indian style," Hermione said. "I suppose Jingo's been busy decorating."

Mrs. Weasley was in front and sniffed with irritation. "Yes. We keep telling him to keep it a little less overwhelming, but he just never listens."

"Might be a House-elf thing," said Harry.

"You'll be pleased to hear we finally cleared out the last of that Dark rubbish from the attic," Mrs. Weasley went on. "Make yourselves at home, please, I'll put the kettle on."

Sirius showed up fifteen minutes later in good cheer. "It really does irk me, how I can't even take Gigi back to my own house," he said, "what with the Fidelius Charm. I've been sleeping over at her place, but she's starting to suspect I don't actually own a house, and am just some vagrant. Either that or I'm just a slob."

"Pizza boxes, Bundimun," Harry said.

"And I've _told_ you," said Mrs. Weasley, "if you're going to dedicate a house to be the Order's headquarters, you can't just let all your girlfriends in. Those are exactly the sort of people You-Know-Who most likes to blackmail."

"Speaking of which," said Ron, as his mother went back to tend her kitchen, "what has he been up to? I assume the Marionette Man is one of his agents?"

"Exactly what he's been doing is Order business," Sirius said, which Harry suspected meant he didn't know, "but for the most part, he's been gathering allies. He probably has the giants by now; we know he's sent someone to the vampires; Lupin's in deep cover with the werewolves, and he's negotiating with them too; we think he's planning on sending an envoy to the banshee colony in north Ireland by March."

"Ouch," said Ginny, with feeling. "I wouldn't fancy going up against all of them."

"I'm afraid to say we probably will," said Sirius. "They've all been marganalised by wizarding society proper; historically, they've always been happy to side with anyone trying to overthrow it. Which is at least partly why Dumbledore tried to pass equality laws over the past ten years, but unfortunately almost none of them got through. But Voldemort isn't even the worst of our problems now. Fudge is."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"He's still insisting Dumbledore's trying to overthrow him, and he's convinced himself that Dumbledore is controlling the Marionette Man. He must have read that _Quibbler_ article too."

"Come off it," said Ron. "Dumbledore helped put the fires out, not start them."

"It makes a sort of sense," said Sirius. "Begin the fire, making it look like Fudge can't keep society working, then show up in the nick of time, making it look like he could. Problem is, we have no idea who the Marionette Man is, so we can't prove it isn't Dumbledore. We have to assume he's working for Voldemort to try to weaken the Ministry and make it easier to topple when he finally moves into the open."

"I don't know," said Hermione. "He talked to us at Hogsmeade, and he sounded … unhinged."

"That's not exactly out of character for a Death Eater," said Ron. "Remember fake Moody?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "He had delusions of Voldemort's grandeur and omnipotence, was obsessive, and had that weird facial tic. The Marionette Man was … angry. He didn't say a word about blood purity, it was all about revenge and death. Those are completely different psychoses."

"Do you suppose he might have been a vampire?" Ron suggested. "They must have lots of their relatives killed by hunters…"

"He was out in broad daylight," said Hermione. "Although, now you mention it, I'm sure there'd be some sort of a potion you could use like sunscreen, and obviously either he knows how to brew potions himself or has a friend who does … he didn't have fangs either, though."

"Ron might be onto something," said Harry. "Are there any other humanoids he might be?"

"With a decent disguise, maybe a banshee," said Sirius, "although I didn't think anything but a human could use a wand well enough to conjure Fiendfyre. I'll look into it later. It would explain why no-one's ever seen him before, though."

"You still haven't found him, then?" asked Ron.

"Not a trace," said Sirius. "It's like he just pops into existence to launch an attack, and then disappears. No-one's seen him anywhere else, he doesn't seem to have any friends or family, he's not in any birth records we've found, and we have people looking overseas now, too … but to keep someone completely isolated like that, and still train him to be good enough to conjure and apparently control Fiendfyre, I can't think who could pull that off but Voldemort."

But even Voldemort couldn't have gotten him into the Black Hole.

And speak of the devil…

_Harry? Are you alone?_

_No._

_Call me when you next are. I have intel._

"Excuse me," Harry said, standing up. "Bathroom."

_You were saying?_

_This isn't eating-dinner-in-a-crowded-room-while-you're-the-k eynote-speaker alone, is it?_

_Of course not._

"_Of course". I've worked out the details of my next move, and I need your help._

_And it's about time, too. I've been wanting to do something since Penelope Clearwater, never mind Hogsmeade. What are we doing?_

_Acquiring some critical intelligence._

_You know, a Gryffindor would have tried a frontal attack by now._

_A Gryffindor would be a greasy scorch mark by now. Dumbledore lives inside a fortified castle with a loyal staff of crack mages; until our pieces are all aligned, our only hope is to keep winning allies, weapons, and information._

_I hear you've been doing some recruiting without telling me._

_I can't imagine what made you think I'd entrust my entire strategy to a fifteen-year-old of unconfirmed Occlumentic ability who may or may not only be pretending to be on my side._

_Touché. So what is this critical intelligence and how are we getting it?_

_Before you were born, a prophecy was made about you … or so I assume; as with most prophecies, it was a touch ambiguous. And I don't know its entire text._

_What do you know?_

_'The one with … approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies'. This was part of the start; there may have been some amount more after that. I did not hear what this approaching one was supposedly with. This prophecy was made shortly before you were born; you are one of two people I can name who fit the pedigree and birthdate._

_Who's the other?_

_Neville Longbottom. From Wormtail's and Crouch's reports, it seems reasonable to assume that he isn't the chosen anything, other than Snape's chew toy._

_Let's not assume anything. What does the prophecy mean?_

_That's a difficult question to answer when we don't know its complete text. I wasn't there to hear it; I got that from an informant who was thrown out while the prophecy was being made. Guess who threw him out._

_Dumbledore._

_Naturally. What the prophecy means in practical terms is that he knows something we don't. It's probably to do with you. And prophecies have a habit of being important._

_He never mentioned anything about it to me._

_Well, stop the presses. However, he obviously puts great stock in prophecy – he'd have to, to keep that Trelawney woman – unless he's sleeping with her–_

_You said the same thing when I told you I was doing an interview with that journalist from _Witch _Weekly. Why do you always assume that?_

_Induction. Regardless, Dumbledore obviously thinks prophecy in general is important enough to dilute the educations of two generations of students and counting, so it seems reasonable to conclude that that one in particular is critical. The fact that he's never mentioned it to you cements that._

_Maybe it does mean Neville, and he never told me because it had nothing to do with me?_

_I guess it's possible, but I have other channels of information which should have reported that. I'm willing to bet that it really is about you, that Dumbledore has deliberately withheld it from you, and that we would benefit immensely from learning its full text. This is the information I wish to retrieve._

_Sounds like a slow way to win a war, but I guess you have more experience than me in this sort of thing. So how are we going to get it? I suppose Dumbledore keeps a transcript in his office?_

_No, but the Ministry does. They have an archive of all prophecies made in Britain, and plenty from overseas too, in the bowels of their central office. However, there is a defensive enchantment upon them: they may only be retrieved by those mentioned in the prophecy. This is why I need you there in person. The overall plan is this: assemble with my Death Eaters; they'll lead you to the archives and disable any other security in the way; you'll retrieve the prophecy; everyone returns to my HQ for us to hear it out and plan our next moves._

_What if someone sees us?_

_I have prepared a mixture of bribery, stealth, deception, and corrupt Obliviators to deal with that._

_What if someone sees _me_? They almost expelled me when Malfoy's House-elf levitated a cake near me; they'll line me up against a wall and shoot me if I break into their archives._

_You'll be wearing those hooligan robes from the High Gala._

_And, most importantly of all: what if the prophecy is actually about Neville?_

… _Well, logically, if Neville is the only one who can retrieve the prophecy, then that just means he'll have to go with you too, doesn't it?_


	12. The Caper

"Merry Christmas!"

The Black Hole was almost cluttered with holiday cheer. Whenever anyone told Jingo and the other elves to stop doing something, such as the incense, they took it as permission to try three other forms of decoration, and by now, there were miles of tinsel glued to the walls and underfoot, mistletoe _everywhere_, and flashing lights on the ceiling. The overall effect was like being in a cross between a very hairy forest and a rave party.

Ron was up first on Christmas morning, rifling through the presents at the foot of his bed and already digging into a bag of Chocolate Frogs. Harry went to look through his own. Mrs. Weasley had given him a hand-knitted jumper and some sweet pies; Ron a box of lollies; Hermione a book on Legilimency.

"Oh, how thoughtful," Ron said, looking at his present from Hermione, also a book: _The Beginner's Guide to Reversing Spell Damage_. "I get the feeling she's still upset about something."

"I wonder what," Harry said truthfully: she and Ron had a minor argument twice a week.

"Oh, Merlin," Ron said, looking at Harry's pile, and, in particular, a small rectangular pink box scattering glitter all over the floor. "Is that from your girlfriend?"

"My who?" Harry asked.

Ron pointed to his purse on his bedside table.

"Oh, right," said Harry. "_That_ girlfriend. Er. Yes."

"How are things with you and her, anyway?" Ron asked. "I haven't seen you talking to any girls. Other than Hermione and Ginny, obviously, and the Chaser girls, but none of them would use glitter. For anything. Ever."

"Well, er. We talk every now and then," Harry said. "She doesn't like crowds." He opened the card from the box.

_Dearest Harry,_

_Here's your Christmas present! These are my best brownies! I baked them specially for you – don't share them with anyone! Think of me when you eat them!_

_They're made with my Mum's yummiest recipe, and have Wakefulness Potion in them. Eat one before you need to stay up for a big assignment – or if you want to do something else all night!_

_I can't believe I just wrote that! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo_

_Love from,_

_Your Secret Admirer!_

"When you say 'you talk'," Ron said, "do you mean the kind of talking that involves saying words, or something else?"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. _Voldemort, you aren't _hitting_ on me, are you? I don't swing that way._

_Merry Christmas to you too._

_If you want gratitude, look in a dictionary. It's somewhere between gay and grievance._

_The mission's at two a.m. You're going to need stimulants. This was the funniest – ahem, the least suspicious way of getting you them._

"I have the most messed up love life out of anyone I've ever met," said Harry.

"You got that right," said Ron. "You aren't going to eat them, are you?"

"They look nice enough," Harry said, looking inside the box. There were six of them, still warm, probably under some sort of extended freshness charm.

"Even though you know for a fact that they're doctored?" Ron asked.

"With Wakefulness Potion, not poison, or yet more C-88," Harry said. "And she did explicitly say not to share them."

"Sure," said Ron. "It's not like we've been best mates for four and a half years and counting. You should listen to this psychotic stalker girl instead."

"What are you complaining about? You're surrounded by lollies, and your mother's cooking," Harry said.

"It's the principle of the matter," said Ron.

"What, 'leave no stone uneaten'?"

"They're probably laced with love potion. There's no other reason you'd put up with someone like that."

"If you actually believed there was the slightest chance these were laced with love potion keyed to the sort of person who would write this," Harry waved the note, and a few ounces of glitter fell out, "you wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot-pole while wearing dragonhide gloves."

"Fair point," said Ron. "So what do you see in her?"

"She's really interesting to talk to," said Harry.

"Just checking here," said Ron, "but she _isn't_ Hermione or Ginny, is she?"

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asked. "Ginny would hex you for suggesting that, and I don't think Hermione even owns lipstick, let alone glitter."

"I know, but like I said, I haven't seen you talking to any other girls. And you and Hermione keep sneaking off for those Occlumency meditations; that's exactly what you'd say if you were secretly a couple. And Ginny's been acting odd too."

For some reason, neither Harry nor Hermione had felt like telling anyone they danced, and had instead made vague excuses about needing privacy to concentrate. "Odd?"

"Disappearing from the common room at odd times, looking dishevelled when she gets back, zoning out and staring into space, never having a good excuse for any of them."

"Sounds like when she was possessed by Riddle's diary, three years ago," said Harry.

There was a pause.

"She couldn't _possibly_ have gotten possessed _again_," Harry said.

"We were up to our armpits in Dark artefacts when we first got here," said Ron. "She might have touched one or something…"

"Even that diary, which was enchanted by Lord Voldemort himself, took her actively using it to affect her," said Harry. "And she wouldn't be stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice."

"You didn't grow up with her," said Ron, "I did. Believe me, she really would be that stupid."

"Okay, we'll ask her whether she hasn't been talking to Voldemort again, later," said Harry, and went back to his presents.

Lupin gave him a book about Dark creatures; Harry was surprised to note how many of the sapient species were allied with Voldemort or neutral and how few were with Dumbledore or the Ministry.

_You're quite popular among humanoids, aren't you?_

_If you'd ever met Dolores Umbridge of the Ministry and heard what she's been trying to do to most of them, you'd understand why._

_And Dumbledore?_

_They consider him ineffectual at combating her faction at best. And I suspect he's done some experiments of, ah, debatable ethics, to Merfolk, although I have no hard evidence._

Tonks had bought him a silver compass which was enchanted to always point to home, and when he moved to get some idea of its parallax, it was fixed pointing toward the centre of Grimmauld Place. One of Jingo's children had given him a small, quadruped figurine, roughly carved from some sort of blue stone. The last was from Astoria Greengrass: a shiny pair of dragonhide gloves.

"How do you keep saving young girls?" Ron asked. "Some people attract cats, others magpies; you get adoring underage girls. _She_ isn't your mystery girlfriend, is she?"

"I've never even spoken to her," Harry said, although he kept the gloves: they were good quality.

There was a knock on the door; Harry opened it, and in came Ginny.

"Merry Christmas," she told them, "and don't go downstairs just yet; Mum's been fighting with the twins again. I think she's worked out some of their business plan."

Fred and George had been quite frank to their friends, if not their parents, about their plans for the academic year, which involved plenty of selling their toys and bewitched confectionary and very little in the way of study. They had made a fair amount of gold, but the blocks of detentions for missing half their classes were always going to get back to their parents eventually.

Harry eased the door open; the copious decorations acted as surprisingly good sound insulation, but he could still quite clearly hear Mrs. Weasley shouting at her two sons.

"Speaking of things Mum would shout about," Harry said, "you haven't gotten possessed again, have you?"

Ginny just gave him a look.

"You've been disappearing at odd times and showing back up again looking tousled," Harry said with a shrug. "That happened in second – your first year, too."

"Oh, no," Ginny said, "this is different. Back then, I kept having memory blanks; I'd find myself in some deserted corridor covered in chicken feathers with no memory of the last few hours. That hasn't happened since then." She paused. "And what do you mean, disappearing? I haven't disappeared."

"You keep leaving the common rooms at, like, eight o'clock," said Ron.

Ginny glanced between him and Harry, apparently realising that this was all Ron's idea. "Well, I have friends from outside Gryffindor," she said. "There are some really nice Hufflepuffs in my year. There are lots of parties in the Hufflepuff suite."

"I've never been there," said Ron. "How do you get in?"

"You know that room on the third floor with the leather sofas, and a door in each of three of its walls?" she asked. "The entrance is in the fourth wall. Push on it in the right place and it swings open."

"Is there a password?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Ginny, "it was 'Hufflepuff' last term; I hear it'll be changed to 'badger' for next. You should check it out; they have the best furniture."

Harry looked from Ginny to Ron, who apparently didn't realise she was lying. Still, at least she knew she wasn't being possessed, and if she didn't tell them or even get flustered when they brought it up, she couldn't be in too much trouble.

"Jingo!" he said. "Can you bring some breakfast up here?"

"Yessir," said the blue House-elf, appearing beside Ron's bed with a platter of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and something that looked like some sort of honey cakes, "ne'er thou fear."

Because they had friends from outside the Order they wanted to see, but whom they couldn't really invite in for security reasons, they had Christmas lunch at the Burrow. Hermione was spending the day with her family, but aside from much of the Order, Gigi showed up, as did Xenophilus Lovegood and his daughter Luna, who was a sometimes friend of Ginny, despite being in Ravenclaw. Luna had a mass of ruddy scar tissue and an eyepatch over the right saide of her face and neck, which marred her otherwise quite good looks. Tonks was in her native form, although she kept inflating into a rotund Father Christmas shape.

"That's the third time you've Santaed yourself," Harry said, "and you always look exactly the same. I would have thought you'd do it slightly differently each time."

"Metamorphmagi abilities aren't too precise," Tonks explained, reverting to her natural form. "I can't look exactly as I please. It's sort of like … imagine the space of all possible bodies is like a field, which is covered in rises and depressions. Where you are in that field defines your shape. Most people are like posts stuck in the ground, so you can be anywhere and have whatever shape, but never move. Being a Metamorphmagus is like being a ball. You can roll over to somewhere else and take a different shape, but you can only stay in a form if it's at the bottom of a slope. So I can't look slightly different; if I try, the ball rolls downhill. In general, I can't imitate other people exactly. Here, I'll try to do Hermione."

She clenched her face and morphed into a bushy-haired brunette, but she wouldn't be mistaken for Hermione except from a distance at night. The hair was the wrong shade, her face was too chubby, the nose slightly wrong, her skin too pale, her eyes were blue, and she was a bit short.

"I can't just imitate anyone I want," she said. "I wish I could, though; I can't even imagine the pranks I could play if I could look like anyone at all without needing Polyjuice."

"You'd make a great investigator," said Xenophilus, looking her over. "Especially if you used fake ID, you'd be able to get almost anywhere."

Tonks gave a catlike smile, sprouting whiskers and triangular ears.

"Exactly how many fake IDs do you have?" Harry asked her in an undertone.

"No wonder you're still single," she replied. "There are three things you should never ask a girl: her age, her weight, and how many times she's committed identity fraud."

"Not much point with the first two, given you can change both of those," Harry said.

"Oops, I hear someone coming," she said, twitching her new ears. "I'd better go. Merry Christmas all!"

"Wait, why does that imply –" Harry began, but she was out of her seat and the room in seconds. A minute later the doorbell rang; Ginny answered it, and in came Neville's grandmother, a very pleased-looking Neville, and Rosie Lalor.

"Sorry I'm late, everyone," said Rosie said with an expansive smile, "I got caught up at home."

"We were at the hospital," said Dame Longbottom. Apparently even Christmas wasn't enough to make her smile.

"Oh? Was someone hurt?" asked Ron.

"No, we were visiting my son and daughter-in-law," she said.

Neville looked at his feet. Harry quickly changed the topic. "Hey, Sirius, you owe me a present," he said with a pout.

"You said you wanted to try the Animagus transformation," Sirius said. "I figured I'd make a batch of my revelation potion for you."

"The potion?" asked Lupin. "Isn't that the very first step? I thought you did that almost four months ago."

Ron and Neville looked at the ceiling.

"There were technical issues," Harry said.

Lupin blinked. "Did you try the ritual or the charm?" he asked.

"There were _lots_ of technical issues," said Harry. "Neville, why don't you stick around, and we'll get you a portion too?"

"That recipe makes enough for seven," said Sirius. "Turns out it's easier to make multiple serves than just one. It's no fuss."

"We wouldn't want to impose," said Dame Longbottom.

"It's no trouble," Harry said quickly, "none at all. Right, Sirius?"

"What," said Gigi, who was leaning against Sirius, "I can't visit, but he can? Is this a conspiracy?"

"I can brew the potion here," said Sirius. "I do own a house, I swear!"

"It's not that I don't believe you, Grim," she said, kissing him under the ear, "it's that you seem to be going out of your way to make me not believe you."

After they polished off the roast beast, Sirius headed to the Weasleys' kitchen, where he set up a makeshift potions lab. All of the students plus Rosie and Gigi followed him in.

"Do you have the recipe handy?" Sirius asked. "It's been twenty years since the last time I made this one."

Harry rooted around in his purse. It had become an unmanageable mess of random junk, until he asked Hermione how she dealt with it, and she suggested using nested bags to classify his stuff. He pulled out the bag of his school stuff, then the binder of notes from that, and flipped to the miscellaneous tab.

"Nice bag," said Gigi.

"It's saved more lives than mine," Harry said. "Here you go."

Sirius scanned through it, took a lead pencil from Harry's school bag, and crossed out a few numbers.

"What," said Ron. "Don't tell me you wrote it down wrong."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Sirius said, "and this is a bit of a no-brainer, really, I mean, come on. Two millilitres of fire monkey bile? That should obviously be twenty."

"Obviously," said Harry.

Sirius brewed the potion first time without a single mishap, and before they knew it, they had a cauldron of aromatic yellow potion.

"You mean we could have done this four months ago?" Neville asked. "Just like that?"

"How do you screw something like this up?" Sirius asked. "Snape must be a completely useless teacher if this isn't straightforward to fifth-years."

"Says the man with the Outstanding Potions N.E.W.T.," Gigi said.

"When you drink it, it'll put you into a trance for a few moments of objective time," Sirius went on, "but it'll be a few minutes subjectively to you. You'll get a vision of your intrinsic animal, from its own senses, which can be odd if its senses are different enough from yours. Don't take it personally if it's … not what you expect."

"Won't it just be a stag for me?" Harry asked. "That's my Patronus, after all."

"Not necessarily," said Sirius. "Your father and McGonagall had the same Animagus and Patronus, but it's not set in stone. People's Patronuses can change as they get older, but Animagus forms don't, so it might possibly be different … and you don't want to get this step wrong."

"This serves seven, right?" said Harry. "Who else wants a helping?"

"I'll pass," said Gigi. "That sort of thing's not really so appealing once you get older – aack!" For Sirius had transformed and tackled her to the floor, licking her face.

"Might be interesting," said Fred; George nodded.

"I like animals," said Luna. Everyone tried not to stare at her burn scars, but it was hard.

"Not me," said Rosie. "Shapeshifting sounds icky. No offence, Neville."

Ginny rolled her eyes at Rosie and got seven glasses from a cupboard, then gave one to each of Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and the twins.

"Bottoms up," said Ron once they had divided the potion up.

It even tasted like cheese. Harry licked his lips and set his glass down quickly, then sat down.

"Don't want to drop anything…" he began, before blacking out.

A sense of tranquility, much like the times he had been under the Imperius curse the year before, settled over him. The sun was high in a cloudless sky over a wide pasture, which stretched over some low neighbouring hills; he could see the sun even while looking at the ground. The colours seemed slightly dull and muted; the wind was weak, but he could hear it crisply and clearly. The smell of fresh grass was strong in his nostrils.

His field of vision was much larger than he was used to, and the depth perception was much worse, but it was still clearly focused on the animal in front of him. It was bent forward, eating grass.

Harry watched, vaguely wondering whether he should be doing anything, for a few minutes, while it kept on grazing.

His intrinsic animal was a sheep.

"M'naa," it said, and resumed grazing.

At length, his mind returned to the Burrow. The others were all stirring.

"So, what are you all?" asked Sirius.

"I was this weird rabbitish thing," Ron said.

"'Was'?" said George.

"It was orange and about five feet tall, and bounding along a desert somewhere."

"That's a kangaroo," said Luna, her one good eye fixed on a wall tile.

Ginny giggled. "Don't be silly, Luna, those don't exist."

Ron shrugged. "Whatever it was, it felt terrific! It was fast and strong, and the senses were incredible. This is going to be so cool!"

"I was an elephant," said Fred. "I sucked up some water into my trunk and sprayed it at another elephant."

"That was me," said George.

"I was a lion," Neville said wonderously. "I guess I really am a Gryffindor, after all. That was _fantastic_; we've got to do it now."

"I was some sort of medium-sized cat," said Ginny, "bigger than a house cat, smaller than a lion. I was in a tree, sneaking up on this bright tropical bird – the smells and sounds and colours, the sense of _poise_, it was incredible. Can I join you guys?"

"The more the merrier," said Neville with a smile.

"You can try," said Ron.

"If you can pull it off, so can I," she said.

"I was a herring," said Luna.

There was an awkward pause.

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

"I was a stag, of course," he said. "It was brilliant. You know what, I've been thinking about Legilimency all day, and Hermione was really interested in that and wants someone to practise with. Why don't I try that instead."

"Don't you want to run around Hogwarts at night, like Sirius did with Lupin and your dad and the other guy?" Ginny asked.

"I can already do that," Harry pointed out, "I have an Invisibility Cloak."

"Are you sure?" asked Sirius, sounding disappointed. "I know it's a lot of work, but…"

"I'll learn it eventually, don't worry," Harry lied earnestly, "just that Hermione needs one partner more than the rest of you need a seventh study mate."

"Fair enough," said Sirius, mollified.

Dame Longbottom stuck her vulture-topped head into the kitchen. "Neville, are you done in here?" she asked. "It's time to go."

"If you've already visited his family," Harry said quickly, "why not let him stay here with us for the night? We can stay up and play games."

"Because of the Fidelius," said Sirius. "He can't come back to the Black Hole, or Gigi will make me sleep on the couch tonight."

"It's true," Gigi corroborated.

"I've been thinking the Hole was too stuffy anyway," Harry said, "with all that incense and spice everywhere. Let's stay here."

"He needs proper sleep," his grandmother said.

"He's a prefect," Harry said, "he's responsible enough to know his own bedtime. Right, Neville?"

"Er," said Neville.

"It's Christmas," said Harry, pulling his very best 'I'm an orphan and my adoptive parents don't love me' look.

"Weeell," said Dame Longbottom. "Alright, just this once. If Arthur agrees. And your bedtime is half past nine, strictly."

"Of course, ma'am," said Neville.

"I'm going to visit my great-auntie," said Luna.

There was an awkward pause.

.. ... ...

_Hey, Harry. Harry. Wake up. Wake up. WAKE THE HELL UP._

Harry shot upright in his bed and gave a little cry.

"Mrur?" said Ron.

"It's Voldemort," Harry said. There were two sharp intakes of breath.

"… What?" asked Ron.

"Voldemort," Harry said. "I just had a dream about him. He's about to attack the Ministry."

"This is one of those psychic dreams where you see what he's doing, right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. I know where he's gathering his Death Eaters and when. I'm going to stop him."

"You against him and all his Death Eaters?" Ron asked. "You're kidding, right?"

Harry reached into his purse, extracted Voldemort's Wakefulness brownies, and ate one. "I'll Transfigure myself a mask and wear robes and not say anything. Disguise myself as a Death Eater. I'll follow him, find out what he's doing, hex as many of his Death Eaters in the back as I can, and Disapparate."

"Not without me, you don't," said Ron.

"Not a chance," said Harry. "It's too dangerous."

"For me but not you?" Ron asked.

"Er," said Harry. "One of them might try Legilimency."

"I'll make sure not to meet anyone's eyes," said Ron.

"I might get another vision and see what Voldemort's doing in real-time," Harry said.

"If that happens, it'll be good to have someone with you who's completely focused on the here and now," said Ron, "and anyway, you can tell me if that happens."

"Are you sure about this?" said Neville.

"It's happened before, before the Tournament," said Ron.

"Then excuse me if this is stupid," said Neville, "but why don't we tell your parents and get them to tell the DMLE, and have them deal with it?"

"No!" Harry hissed. "Er. Look, if we tell any of them, they'll tell Dumbledore, who'll tell Snape, who'll tell Voldemort, and they'll abort and try again another night."

"So we'll ambush them another night instead," said Ron.

Harry was not fond of trying to argue against something which, knowing what Ron and Neville thought he knew, would have been a very sensible idea. "We can't count on me having a vision dream twice," he said.

"Are you sure Snape would tell You-Know-Who?" Neville asked. "I mean, if Dumbledore trusts him, he must have a reason for it."

"In any case, Voldemort almost certainly has a spy somewhere around here," Harry said, "there's no way he wouldn't try to infiltrate the movement against him. If we tell anyone, we run the risk of tipping him off. It can only be us who go."

"I don't like it," said Neville.

"You don't have to come," said Ron.

"Hey, my intrinsic animal is a lion," said Neville. "I'm going."

"Don't you think he'd be likelier to notice us if there were three, rather than two?" said Ron.

"Then you should stay behind," said Harry. "We'd better leave someone to tell Sirius, in case things go badly."

"Since you keep having visions," said Neville, "surely you should be the one to stay here, since you might be able to see it if it goes wrong."

"Er," said Harry, "no, that won't work. Er … because I'm the only one who knows where they're meeting up."

"But you'll have to tell us anyway," Ron pointed out. "It's not like you can do Side-along Apparition."

_Harry, what's taking you so long? You're late!_

_They're poking holes in my logic._

_This operation has a timetable. Just get to the rendezvous and we'll sort things out there._

"Ron, stay here," Harry said. "Neville, get dressed, and let's get ready to go."

"You're not leaving without me," said Ron, who lit his wand and began dressing.

_I need to do some more talking. Would it matter if I were five minutes late?_

_Yes! Just get to the rendezvous already; you can sort the rest out as you go._

_I'm not sure that'll work._

_Nothing will if you make us miss the guard shift, now go!_

"Fine!" said Harry. "But hurry up and don't say or do anything until I give the signal. They're meeting in London, in Grovebind Avenue." They Transfigured themselves masks and Disapparated.

It was a cul-de-sac shrouded in darkness other than from a lamp post fifty yards away; Harry could barely make out a mass of black-robed bodies. He suddenly realised why Death Eaters wore black; if they usually attacked at night, it was good all-purpose camouflage, and it had style and terror on its side at day.

"Ah," came Voldemort's voice from one of the robes, "our last arrivals. Let us begin. Divide into teams of three." _Harry, I just heard three pops. I was expecting two. Why is this?_

_Ron insisted on coming along._

He clustered together with Ron and Neville; Voldemort took off his mask so no-one would take him for the rank and file; the other Death Eaters grouped into trios. One was left over.

_This is a paramilitary organisation, not a daycare. A small distinction, but an important one._

_I know! But I couldn't talk him out of it!_

_Did you try saying no? They say that no plan survives contact with the enemy; we haven't even set out on this one and it's already screwed up._

The left-over Death Eater glanced around and then said in what sounded awfully like Hermione feigning a deeper voice, "Shall I join one of the others? Uh, my Lord?"

_Oh God, oh God, oh God. Abort! Abort!_

_Calm down, Potter! We can salvage this!_ "Yes. Form a group of four."

She looked around; Harry nodded frantically, and she came over. _Remind me _w_hy you thought it'd be smart to invite Hermione Granger on a Death Eater raid!_

_Because she's the only person I almost trust who could think her way out of a paper bag. Bloody inbreeding._ "Very good," said Voldemort. "You all know the mission briefing already. Unfortunately, that meddling old fool Dumbledore has layered the Ministry with alarm wards keyed specifically to me; if I appear anywhere near the building, I will trip them. I shall instead wait here with reinforcements.

"Remember, secrecy is critical. You are masquerading as burglars; act like it. This means no illegal Dark magic, no murder, not even of Order members, and no unnecessary property damage." He was looking at one particular Death Eater as he said most of this. "In particular, no Unforgiveable curses. Use Stunners where practical. This mission is strictly retrieval; there will be time enough for violence later.

"Since most of you are officially dead, it is as important not to leave anyone behind. If your partner is Stunned, revive him or her. If they are killed, levitate their body and take it with you. If you can't, vaporise it. Do you all understand?"

There came a chorus of "Yes, my Lord"s.

"Then go," he said, "go and strike the first blow against the Ministry and Dumbledore!"

Other than them, there were nine Death Eaters in the raid; they followed along behind them as they set out. _What now? Ron and Neville know that Hermione's here. How am I going to explain that to them?_

_They don't know; she's wearing a mask. She'll deny everything._

_They're not that gullible._

_They have the choice of whether to believe Hermione Granger, Muggle-born genius, is a Death Eater, or another Death Eater has a voice similar to hers when she fakes a deeper one._

_A Death Eater of her exact height and stride, and if she moves the right way, they'll be able to see she has the same sixteen-year-old figure._

_Look. Once you or Neville get the prophecy, bring him and Ron back to me, and I'll Memory Charm them. They'll know something fishy happened, but Hermione will be in the clear._

_Do all your plans go haywire this early?_

_No. This one's all down to you. Congratulations._

They came up to a telephone booth. The first three Death Eaters went in and shut the door; thirty seconds later, it opened again, and they were gone. The next trio did the same.

_We're at a telephone booth. What do we do?_

_There's a dial inside. Key in 62442 and follow the prompt. The last time they changed the password, the entire Ministry ground to a halt for two days. Do mind you give fake names._

Harry led his three friends in next and rang the dial. A cool female voice spoke to them.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," it said. "Please state your names and business."

"Abe Barnhatter," Harry said at random, feigning a lower, gravelly voice. "Carla Deladong. Ernie Faysworth. And Greg Hoax. And we're … here to inspect the plumbing."

The other three all gave him looks of '_those_ are the best fake names you can think of?', discernable even through their masks.

"Thank you," said the automated voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

Four metal badges clattered into the booth's return slot. Harry took and donned the first: _Abe Barnhatter, graveyard shift plumbing_.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium." The booth sank into the earth.

"Everyone, keep as quiet as possible," Harry said, in the same gravelly voice. "Hand signals only. And wands out throughout."

The other three nodded. Harry tried to work out what each was thinking. Ron probably knew who Hermione was, but if Harry apparently didn't recognise her, that would make him second-guess himself. Neville didn't know her as well and might have thought she was some random Death Eater. Hermione would have recognised his voice and known Neville was with him, and assumed the other was a Death Eater.

As for the real Death Eaters, Voldemort had told them Harry was on their side at the graveyard, and presumably would have done the same for Hermione sometime since, or at least told them not to touch her. They knew Neville was with them and off-limits and that they had to pretend they didn't know. As for Ron … surely at least one of them realised there were supposed to be twelve people on the raid, not thirteen. And now, they had the perfect opportunity to discuss it. Harry sighed.

There came a shaft of golden light, and the Atrium came into sight. It was huge and conspicuously empty. The other Death Eaters had gone ahead.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening," said the voice as the doors opened.

They stepped out, their wands sweeping the area, but there was no-one to be seen. _Voldemort, the Atrium is empty. What do I do?_

_Cross the Atrium. There should be a bank of elevators beyond it. Press down; you're going to the ninth basement._

Harry took the lead and motioned the others to follow, their footsteps clattering on the floor. At the security desk snored a badly-shaven wizard in blue robes. _The guard isn't going to wake up, is he?_

_Not even if the entire Ministry collapsed around his ears. Thoroughness is a virtue._

There were at least twenty golden grilles guarding more lifts; Harry walked up to the nearest and hit down. It opened immediately; they all crowded in, he hit the number nine, and the gates closed.

Ron whispered in his ear. "How do you know where you're going?"

In response, Harry just tapped his mask beside his nose. Hermione and Neville turned at the noise this made. Judging from the tension of how they held their wands, each was a hair trigger away from hexing the other.

"Department of Mysteries," said the cool voice, much more quietly this time, and the grille opened. The other six Death Eaters were waiting, saw them and waved.

One raised his fingers to his lips and pointed at the black door at the other side of the corridor, then raised a hand to bid them wait in the corridor. After a few minutes, the lift opened, and the last three Death Eaters arrived.

They assembled before the door; one raised a gloved hand with three fingers, then two, then one, and kicked the door open. Tonks fell backward from it, as though she'd been dozing against the door.

"_Stupefy_!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice with a flash of red; Tonks fell. The Death Eaters continued apace.

_Sitrep?_

_What?_

_What's going on?_

_Do you mean to tell me you're bored?_

_I'm the mission controller. I need an idea of what's going on._

_Yeah, right. We just passed through a room with blue torches, and another with a whole lot of clocks in it. This one's full of shelves of little glass balls._

_That's what prophecy records look like._

The other Death Eaters flitted along almost silently to Aisle 97. Malfoy pointed at Harry, apparently at random.

"Go on and get it," he ordered. "We'll stand guard out here."

Harry nodded and took the lead inside. There were at least dozens of the little orbs, ordered by the name of the Seer who had been recorded. At length he found the one.

[verbatim]

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D_

_Dark Lord_

_and (?)Harry Potter_

Harry reached out and took it.

"I have it," he called in his feigned voice.

"_Accio prophecy_," Malfoy said. The prophecy sailed out of Harry's hand and into his. "I think I'd better hold on to this for now, don't you?"

Ron moved up to Harry's right side and whispered in his ear. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"He surprised me!" Harry whispered back.

"We can't let him – _Concutio_!"

Ron's wand gave a screech like an angry goose. The Death Eaters were shocked for a moment; Neville seized the opportunity to fire a Stunner at one. The Death Eater blocked it; with a flash of white light, it ricocheted and hit Neville, moving twice as fast, and threw him into a shelf.

"_Evanesco_," Malfoy said, pointing at Neville's mask and Vanishing it. "So. We had a spy. Yaxley, take him and let's Disapparate."

There came a distant wail, like a crying woman, and another a moment later, like _awooga_.

"That's their lockdown siren," said another Death Eater. "Someone you didn't get must have heard the kid's alarm. That comes with blanket Anti-Disapparition Jinxes, and the elevators are locked too."

"So we're trapped," said Malfoy. "Castlewright, can you punch through the Jinx?"

"Yes," he said, "from here, but it'll take time."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes. You'll need to hold security off for that long."

"Get on it. Yaxley, you and I are covering him. Bella, Jugson, your squads are to hold the entrances. You last three," he said this to Harry, Hermione and Ron, "stay in reserve, and be ready to Side-along that boy out. Everyone, move!"

The siren suddenly cut off. There was a moment of silence, barring the Death Eaters' padding footsteps, and then they heard the elevators going. Apparently there was a manual override from upstairs.

_Voldemort? Things aren't quite going to plan here. The alarms and Anti-Apparition Jinxes are up._

_Right. I'll hold off any reinforcements that try to come from the street, but you'll probably be hit by security already in the building, and I daren't try to intercept them._

Harry shooed Hermione away to confer with Ron. "Should we hex the man trying to break the Jinx?" Ron asked.

"Definitely not. Even with the element of surprise, Neville got blasted. Let's cut our losses and make ready to Apparate him out."

"How?" asked Ron. "I certainly don't know how to Side-along."

"Fine," said Harry, "we'll guard him to make sure the others don't take him back to Voldemort's headquarters. Better the Ministry gets him than Voldemort. Look out, I need to stop the other one getting suspicious."

He waved Ron away so he could talk to Hermione.

"What's Ron doing here?" she asked in an undertone.

"Participating," said Harry. "Remember what it's like, telling him not to get involved in something like this?"

"You mean to tell me," she said, "that we now have Death Eaters, Ministry security, the Order, us, and two loyalist students, all involved in the one battle? I thought this was supposed to be a three-way war."

There came a man's voice from one of the doors. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Come out with your hands on your heads." He paused. "I repeat, come out with your hands on your heads! This is your last warning!"

There was a pause, and the door burst open. Two Death Eaters blasted red light into it, hitting the man who'd come through.

They were about forty yards away; Ron took Harry's ear again. "Should we try to Stun one of the Death Eaters?" he asked.

"Hold on," said Harry. "They're using nonlethal magic. Let's wait and see."

After the first man was hit so easily, the security wizards fell back and went for the other doors; they exchanged cautious spellfire with the Death Eaters. Security must have outnumbered them, but the Death Eaters were elite fighters and held choke points. It looked evenly matched and degenerated into a stalemate around the doors, until they heard voices from the next room.

"Hold your fire!" came Sirius' voice. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "We're on your side!"

"Sirius Black," said another voice. "You're not on security."

"Look, you all know what I think about Death Eaters, and these others are with me," Sirius replied. "Just let us ahead, and we'll take it from here. Everyone, let's go!"

Sirius, of course, would never fight a battle of attrition; he, and half a dozen other Order members including the revived Tonks, charged one of the doors. The Death Eaters fell back before the rush, and retreated to Row 97. Harry levitated Neville; he, Ron and Hermione followed the other Death Eaters.

"How much longer?" Malfoy asked Castlewright.

"Four minutes," replied Castlewright, his wand dancing feverishly, its tip glowing blue.

"Spread out, cover the exits," Sirius called. "Malfoy, you scum, I know you're in here. Come out and fight me like a man."

"That's too long," Malfoy muttered. "Bella, I need you to–"

There came an awful squawky voice, singing. "I heard a shout, from hereabout, from little mice who can't get out."

"Oh, _crap_," Harry said. It was the Marionette Man.


	13. Prophecy Abuse

[_AN: I've changed the title from Honey because apparently that gave off overpowering H/V vibes. That's one ship I never want to be associated with. __Ever. Still, i__f this turns out to __lower my readership__, I'll change it back._]

"He really has a sense of timing," Malfoy said. "Castlewright, work while we walk. Let them sort this out amongst themselves."

"Forget the others!" Sirius shouted. "Get him, now!"

"_Confringo_," said the Marionette Man, five times. Arrows of silvery lights shot upward and slammed into the walls and ceiling, sending mortar dust and stone chips raining down. Another hit one of the prophecy shelves, knocking about a hundred prophecies into the air and shattering where they fell. Shockwaves rippled through the air, making the shelves sway and knocking yet more prophecies off them.

"After him!"

"No, fall back!" cried the security officer. "He'll bring the entire building down on our heads!"

"Hush," said the Marionette Man. "_Sonorus_."

All other sound was drowned out by one of the prophecies, now deafeningly loud. It was enough to rattle the other prophecies in their shelves and dislodge more dust, as well as effectively stopping all communication.

"… _WILL NEVER BE SEEN BY ANY, SAVE __IF__ …_"

Harry cringed at the noise; when he looked up only a moment later, the Death Eaters were retreating down one of the side doors. Harry hurried after, levitating Neville. One of the fire teams covered him, throwing wild Stunners into the Order behind them; the Order and security were busy with the Marionette Man, who'd run into the aisles and was zapping them down onto anyone trying to follow.

The fire team fell back after them, shut and sealed the door, and conjured a brick wall in front of it, which dulled the noises of battle and prophecy. Harry set Neville down and, along Ron and Hermione, took up guard positions around him. They looked around; this room was empty except a few desks and a tank. One of the Death Eaters shone his wand on it, revealing the tank contained green sludge and what looked awfully like human brains.

_Harry, what exactly is going on down there? It feels like an earthquake._

_The Marionette Man. He happened._

_Disengage at all costs._

_What a good idea._

"Three more minutes," said Castlewright, "if there are no interruptions."

"Seal all the doors," said Malfoy. He did a head count. "All present and accounted for. If they break through any, bring it down on their heads. We'll blame all the damage on him. And I'm hereby authorising lethal force."

"The Dark Lord said nonlethal only," said the woman, Bellatrix.

"The Dark Lord deputised me for this mission," Malfoy said. "As long as those other fools try to arrest him instead of letting him attack us, we have a ready-made scapegoat for all destruction, human and otherwise, and we may as well use it."

They had two minutes to catch their breaths, trying to decipher who was winning from the crashes and rumbling from the Hall of Prophecies, before another Blasting Curse took out one of the doors.

A flurry of multicoloured light flashed to and from the door; two of the Death Eaters hit the wall above it with more Blasting Curses, knocking down enough debris to block it again. Unfortunately, it also destroyed the wall, which was evidently load-bearing. The ceiling came down on that half of the room; the Death Eaters fell back again, holding bits of rubble up for a few moments with Levitation Charms.

"Just – a moment – longer…" said Castlewright.

Yet another explosion blew out another door. In its silhouette stood a tall, thin figure in too-small robes.

"Think fast!" he squawked, and shot another curse into the room, before dodging behind the wall.

The first fire team dodged it, as did the second, giving it a clear path to hit the brain tank; it smashed it to pieces. Torrents of the green sludge sprayed out, taking the brains with it.

"_Depulso_," cried Bellatrix, and Banished one through the open door; another latched onto a Death Eater, and a third onto Hermione. They tried a succession of colourful spells without effect.

"Almost there…" said Castlewright.

Another round of concussions hit an outside wall, and chunks of the remaining ceiling collapsed. There was a roaring sound like a waterfall; Harry dodged a falling stone larger than his torso, ran over to Hermione, and tugged at the brain. It wrapped a streamer-like tendril around his wrist.

"CASTLEWRIGHT!" Malfoy shouted.

"They're down!" he said. "Everyone, go!"

Hermione vanished, taking the brain with her; Harry stared at where she'd been for a moment, then glanced back to Ron, just before Yaxley grabbed him and both Disapparated, then at Neville, just before a pile of debris fell and obscured him from view, then all around the room as the building fell down around them, another volley of spells entering from the door. He Disapparated.

There was the familiar sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube, and he came out at the exit rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse by the river. It was well-lit inside by floating lights. Death Eaters were everywhere, taking off their masks to see better; Harry followed suit. Yaxley held an unconscious Ron.

"I _thought_ there were only supposed to be twelve of us," he said.

"Well done, Yaxley," said Voldemort. "You shall be rewarded. For now, drop him off in Malfoy's cellar. I shall deal with personally."

"Yes, my Lord," said Yaxley, and with a pop, he and Ron vanished.

_What are you going to do to him?_

_Talk him over. If that fails, Obliviate him and leave him in a gutter. He can make his own way home._

"I need help here," said a dark-haired woman with a red pentagram over one breast, who was standing over an unmasked Hermione, who was still wearing the brain and turning blue. Voldemort walked over.

"_Evanesco_," he said, Vanishing the brain; Hermione gasped in a lungful of air. "Atramenta, your diagnosis?"

Atramenta apparently had medical training; she cast diagnostic and first aid charms over Hermione, who shuddered, although her colour began coming back.

"Worse than Rookwood," she said. Harry looked over at the other man who'd been hit by a brain, who looked a little worse for wear but essentially fine.

"How soon can you have her back on her feet?" Voldemort asked.

"What are my parameters, my Lord?" she asked.

"No expenses spared, Death Eater help only, speed is a priority," Voldemort rattled off.

"It depends on chance," Atramenta said, "if I have it, by dawn. If not, a week."

"Pray that you are lucky, then," said Voldemort.

"Yes, my Lord. Clarice, fetch my purple bag."

"Harry," said Voldemort, "what happened to Longbottom?"

"I – I lost him," said Harry. "Everything was coming down, and the lights were going out, and I can't Side-along…"

"Don't worry about it, Little Harry," said Bellatrix with a smile, slinging a maternal arm around his shoulders. "His parents won't even notice. I should know."

_If you try to hex her, she'll put you under Cruciatus._

_Worth it._

Voldemort interrupted. "Some decorum, Bella."

"Forgive me, my Lord," she said, rising.

_There's a good chance he's stuck in an air pocket. The Ministry will dig everything up and resuscitate him. In any case, it's out of our hands now._

"Everyone," Voldemort said, tapping his throat with his wand for volume, "who is officially alive, return to your homes and ensure your families will supply alibis. Malfoy, to the Ministry, and make sure the Minister arrives at the best conclusions. Atramenta, take Miss Dolohov and Rookwood to the infirmary. All others, with me to Headquarters. We have a prophecy to hear. Lucius, if you would?"

Malfoy handed the prophecy to his master with a bow, and Disapparated.

Headquarters was in Malfoy Manor, the largest and nicest building Voldemort had access to. It was rather further than ten miles from London, but overstepping his Apparition licence was the least of Harry's worries. While normally it was blanketed in Anti-apparition enchantments, Malfoy had allowed entry to one sitting room. This was ten yards by fifteen and furnished with arm chairs; book shelves and paintings lined the walls; a suit of armour stood by one door; a fire burnt in a grate. The fire pokers were stylised as snakes. The overall effect dripped old money.

Draco and Narcissa Malfoy were sitting in arm chairs, reading; they looked up at the sounds of Apparition and hastily stood and bowed.

"My Lord," said Draco, "I – _Potter_?"

"_Obliviate. Stupefy_," said Voldemort; Malfoy fell back into his chair. "Narcissa, take him to his bed, and when he wakes, tell him he fell asleep waiting. I still don't trust him to know about Harry."

"Of course, my Lord," said Narcissa. "My Lord, is Lucius–"

"Fine," said Voldemort. "He's merely taking care of the coda. He'll return in the morning. I believe I gave an order?"

"Of course, my Lord. Forgive me," said Narcissa, and levitated Malfoy out of the room.

Harry looked over the Death Eaters. His could identify all by name: Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange; Nikolaus Stropolos; Archeus Castlewright; Antonin Dolohov; Morlock Travers; and Elrick Mulciber. All of them known to have committed at least one murder, except Castlewright, who was just as dangerous, just not so directly.

Voldemort pulled a wallet from inside his robes and, with silent wand gestures, extracted the prophecy and what looked like a brass spider. He levitated them toward one another, and the spider latched onto the prophecy. It began speaking.

[verbatim]

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …_"

Harry's blood froze. He looked around the room: there were far too many to fight, and in his panic he could _feel_ he wouldn't be able to Apparate without Splinching … still, losing a body part would be worth the escape…

"Power the Dark Lord knows not…" Voldemort mused. The spider detached from the prophecy; with another wave of his wand, both stored themselves in his wallet, which sank back into his robes. "The one … oh, this is fascinating."

"There is no power you do not know, my Lord, is there?" Bellatrix asked.

"'Either must die'," Dolohov said, and turned his wand on Harry.

"Hold," Voldemort said.

"But my Lord!" Dolohov protested.

Voldemort fixed him with a look. He fell silent.

"Either," Voldemort said to himself, "the other, the one, implying the _only_ one … aheh. Heh heh. A_hahahahaaa_! This is perfect!" Harry drew his wand on him; Voldemort motioned for him to lower it. "Oh, Potter, this is better than I dared dream. Do you see what this means?"

"We have to fight," Harry said. "And … only one of us will survive."

"I thought you took Divination. What do they teach in that, if not prophecy abuse?"

"Creative writing," said Harry. "What do you mean, prophecy abuse?"

"I mean," said Voldemort, "that prophecies don't tell us what to do or how to do it; they merely foretell some of what will happen. A good logomach can exploit that. In particular, this one doesn't mention a deadline."

"A deadline? What do you mean?"

"Remember your place," said Bellatrix. Voldemort silenced her with a hand.

_I mean a kind of cheese. For pity's sake, Harry._ "If we duel now, one of us – namely, you – will die. What if we don't duel now?"

Harry stared. "Then, I suppose we would duel later. We still–"

"And if," Voldemort went on, "we don't duel at any point in the next fifty years?"

"…"

"And if I were to teach you the secret of immortality," Voldemort went on, "and we did not duel, but coexisted peacefully, for the next ten thousand years?"

One could have heard a pin drop.

"As if we didn't have our entire history to prove it," Voldemort said, "Miss Dolohov, the epitome of pureblooded brilliance, proves that _we are superior_ to the Mudblood and Muggle filth. That meddling fool Dumbledore was willing to lie and subvert her to his own ends, and until my return, he was _succeeding_. Without careful custodianship, his _wilfully mediocre_ ideology will spread throughout the world and destroy our culture and way of life. We are wizardkind's last defence.

"So, my faithful companions, I call on you to prepare for a final battle with the so-called Light, where we shall cast them down and secure a ten-thousand-year rule of pureblooded enlightenment. I shall share my knowledge of immortality, and together, we shall defend our culture from the likes of Dumbledore and any who follow in his footsteps, until the end of time!"

The Death Eaters cheered.

_That was a little too convincing._

_Unlike you. Cheer along with them. And you know I know that blood supremacism is factually wrong._

Harry pumped his fist and forced a smile.

"Shall we attack the Ministry now, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, smiling manically.

"With the DMLE on full alert?" Voldemort asked.

"Does it matter?" Harry asked. "Er, my Lord? If one of us has to kill the other, they can't beat you."

"Only true if 'beat' equals 'kill'," Voldemort said. "They might still, by weight of numbers, incapacitate me and lock me in Azkaban, and certainly kill or capture the rest of you. Dumbledore is doubtless at the Ministry by now. For the same reason, we still cannot attack Hogwarts directly." He tapped the fingers of his left hand against his thigh. "We have two medium-term objectives: take over the Ministry and kill Dumbledore. Either would facilitate the other. Let us celebrate now; tomorrow shall be for planning our next move. Potter, return to the Order. Tell them nothing."

"Er," said Harry, trying to think of the proper way to phrase it in front of the Death Eaters. "If it pleases my Lord, I expect Nev– Longbottom will have reported our presence there. They'll know he, Weasley and I were there. What should I tell them?"

"Surely you wouldn't think of lying?" Voldemort asked. "Tell them the truth. That you had a psychic warning of the attack and decided to involve yourself."

"And Hermione?"

Voldemort considered. "I shall have her returned home as soon as possible. She was not seen, was she? The Order will have no reason to suspect she was involved."

"She did speak, my Lord," said her purported father. "She tried to disguise her voice, you recall, but Longbottom is a classmate, is he not? He may have recognised her."

Voldemort considered this. "Yes … if she can reasonably deny everything, she shall, but otherwise, I believe the Imperius Curse is a time-honoured defence. Potter, you are dismissed."

Harry nodded, and Apparated back to the Burrow, which was in chaos.

Weasleys were running amok; Order members kept Apparating and Flooing in and out; everyone was talking over everyone else. Harry Apparated into the front yard; a siren rang dully. He tried to slip in through the front door, which was a mistake; it was full, and the moment he appeared, everyone stopped talking to stare at him. Mrs. Weasley was nearest, and had tufts of hair in either hand; there were clusters of Sirius, Tonks, Lupin, the twins, Mr. Weasley, Moody, and a bunch of witches and wizards he didn't know by the far wall. Sirius strode over and hugged him.

"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "Where were you?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Where's my son?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes and his nerve broke. "He … it's a long story."

"I think it's one we'll need to hear," said Moody. "Natalie, Aiden, mind taking notes? We'll need a written record of this." An unknown witch and wizard pulled out parchment, quills and inkpots. "It'll mean Potter only has to tell it once."

"Er," said Harry. "Yeah. Okay."

"Where's Ron?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Molly," said Moody, "don't interrupt. We can ask questions later. It's important we don't ask leading questions before he's said his piece, so everyone, keep quiet until he's done. Potter?"

So he went over a slightly sanitised version, omitting any mention of Hermione, saying that some other Death Eater had retrieved a prophecy he hadn't seen, and saying that he and Ron had escaped from the exit rendezvous.

"I told him to Apparate eight miles east, and then we did a few random jumps in case we were followed," Harry said, "and after that, we were in a field. He didn't feel up to any more Apparition, so he's resting … somewhere. We agreed that I should come back and tell you all everything; he'll Apparate back here in the morning after he's had a rest. He's fine, don't worry about him. Worry about Neville."

"Oh, thank Merlin," said Mrs. Weasley, and leaned back into her armchair with relief. George set another cup of tea in her hand.

"So that's everything?" Moody said. "You haven't left anything out?"

"Not that I can think of," said Harry. "Nothing major, certainly."

"Okay," said Sirius. "Time for questions, then. I suppose the most important one is, _what the hell were you thinking_? Why did you think Apparating into a mob of Death Eaters was a better idea than telling any of us?"

"Er," said Harry, unsure what to say, because, impulsive though he was, that was definitely a lot stupider than he'd normally be. "I thought there wasn't much time and you wouldn't believe me, and in any case, Voldemort always has spies everywhere. If he knew you were coming to stop him, he would have ambushed you."

"The solution to spies is not to never tell anyone anything, Harry," said Sirius in exasperation.

"I don't do my best thinking at two a.m.," Harry said.

"Then, in future, try not to do anything so … decisive then," Mr. Weasley said.

"And, in future, also try never to do anything quite so suicidal again," Sirius added. "If you ever went out anywhere, I'd ground you."

"Three of you took Death Eaters' places without anyone noticing," said Moody. "They'd never be so sloppy as to not plan numbers beforehand; therefore, three others must have been late. Where was the rendezvous? We may be able to catch them."

"Grovebind Avenue," said Harry, "but it won't work. Voldemort was waiting there while we went in; if they were less than an hour late, he's already talked to them. I wouldn't fancy being in their shoes now."

"What was up with the Marionette Man?" asked Fred. "You saw him, right, Sirius?"

"Does he really walk like a puppet?" George asked.

"More like a spider, I would have said," said Sirius. "He doesn't seem very nimble, which is a mercy, but a small one, since he likes mass destruction spells which don't need great aim anyway. And with those long legs, he's fast. We're lucky we all got out. Security didn't. At least six of them are unaccounted-for."

"He attacked the Death Eaters, Order, and Ministry security," Tonks mused. "I saw that too, while we were split up. Do you have any ideas about what side he's on, Harry?"

"It's like he just wants to destroy everything, no matter their side," said Harry. "He must have a support network, but no-one can find anything about it."

"How can he be smart enough to beat at least three different teams of investigators," said Fred, "if he's stupid enough to use Blasting Curses inside a building with Anti-Disapparition wards? He's probably crushed himself."

"Unless he was actually with the Death Eaters?" George said. "He didn't actually hit any of them, did he? He might have known they were breaking the wards and left with them."

"I would have seen him," Harry said, shaking his head. "And he couldn't have heard Castlewright say when he got the wards, it was too noisy. Besides, it's not like he needed to. Remember that mass teleport spell he used on the Acromantula? That goes around Anti-Disapparition wards anyway, if it was cast from Hogwarts."

"It would have been too much to hope for," Fred said.

"Castlewright," said Moody.

"Er," said Harry, and mentally appended an expletive.

"You heard one of the Death Eaters address another by that name," Moody went on. "Who, and did he say a first name to go with it?"

"Lucius Malfoy said it," said Harry, "and no first name."

"Did Castlewright say anything back?"

"Yeah, he estimated how long it'd take to break the Jinx."

"So it was a he," said Moody. "Not a large family, the Castlewrights. I seem to recall they packed up and moved to Australia, and the only surviving male, Lestius, is busy trying to breed Basilisks there."

"Breeding Basilisks?" Harry said, horrified.

"It's lucrative, if you survive," said Moody, "Basilisk parts are valuable. I think they're not even illegal down there; the main problem is getting the native spiders and other snakes not to eat them. But it's hard work, raising Basilisks; it wouldn't leave time for a night trip to England, and as I recall, Lestius was never interested in anything but gold."

"But if they're all dead or accounted for," began Mrs. Weasley.

There was a pause.

"That mass death in Azkaban wasn't really death," said Moody. "He must have broken them out and faked their deaths. Body Double Potions or similar. Blast it! They've been a step ahead all this time. No wonder he had the forces to try to raid the Ministry."

"There may have been other attacks we didn't realise about," said Tonks. "The Death Eaters were found – sorry, _thought_ dead on the same day as the Hogsmeade Fire, so they couldn't have gotten out much before then … actually, it's been awfully quiet since then."

"He's probably been getting them back into shape," said Sirius. "Fourteen years in Azkaban does a number on the body; I should know."

"Voldemort must know there were people on his raid who weren't supposed to be there," said Moody, "therefore he must guess we know he has those Death Eaters, and therefore he won't hesitate to use them in a raid here or on our other properties, if he can get clear before the DMLE sees them."

"You don't think they'll accept that he's back, even with this?" Tonks asked. "The Ministry's a shambles; who else would do that?"

Moody snorted. "The one who actually did do it. The Marionette Man. I'll bet Malfoy's already there, making sure Fudge thinks just what he wants him to think. We'll be blamed, mark my words, for drawing him into a duel on Ministry ground. In any case, this property is liable to be attacked, possibly as soon as tomorrow night, possibly sooner. Prepare to evacuate."

"I think you're overreacting," Mrs. Weasley said.

"The Marionette Man has a body count of at least forty by now," said Moody. "Forty and counting, and he likes hitting civilians, and apparently he doesn't mind hitting us. Prepare to evacuate."

"How would he have even known about this, though?" said Lupin. "We didn't even know about the attack until that alarm went off. Assuming he's not with the Death Eaters, he must have spies in their ranks or in the Ministry."

Of course, Harry thought, if he was Dumbledore's son, Dumbledore would have told him, presumably in the hopes of hitting both Voldemort and Fudge. He disengaged from the Order immediately, since they weren't his targets; but they were all Light fighters and would never knowingly fight alongside someone like him.

"There _must_ be a paper trail _somewhere_," said Sirius. "Has anyone checked with the goblins?"

"Don't they insist on total confidentiality?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Not for him, they wouldn't," said Sirius. "This guy's levelled everything he's clapped eyes on. You can't do business with someone like that. Not to mention the bounty on his head."

"I'm pretty sure Bill has asked them," said Lupin. "And gotten nothing. If they knew anything, they'd have taken the bounty themselves."

"Unless he's working for _them_," Tonks said thoughtfully. "Could this be all about money? Do the attacks benefit Gringotts somehow?"

"They hurt it, badly," said Lupin. "Scared people withdraw their money and hide it under their mattresses."

"Could it be a rival bank, then?" said Fred.

"Or some other business?" said George. "I don't understand economics, but I thought someone always benefited when someone lost."

"Not really," said Sirius, "random attacks like this are bad for everyone. A foreign government, maybe, but I doubt any of them would risk sending an agent like him here. If it was found out, there'd be a war, and every nation on Earth would side with us. I don't think it's that; I'll bet he's all-British. His accent was." He stretched. "Moody's right. With him, Voldemort, those Death Eaters, and Fudge all out for our blood, the Burrow isn't safe for any of us, least of all Harry. We're going back to the Black Hole; everyone else, we have room. Arthur?"

"You're right," Mr. Weasley nodded. "Ginny, you can stop eavesdropping now."

Harry had been vaguely wondering where she was. She had the dignity to wait a few seconds before opening the door and entering.

"Pack your bags," Mr. Weasley said. "That goes for everyone. We're moving to Sirius' and staying there. Kids, we're Apparating you directly to King's Cross when that leaves, and we're not leaving there until the train's out of sight. No arguing."

"I'm going to find Gigi and tell her some of this," Sirius said. "Harry, you're _absolutely not_ to do anything I wouldn't – anything Remus wouldn't do. Do we know anyone else who's particularly vulnerable who we should offer sanctuary?"

They thought for a moment.

"Hermione," said Lupin.

"Harry," said Sirius chidingly, "you should've been the one to think of her. Some boyfriend you are."

"What?! I'm not her boyfriend. We've been over this, Padfoot."

"A girl like her gives you a book for Christmas and asks to read it together?" he said, eyes sparkling. "Why do you think she asked you and not one of her Ravenclaw friends?"

"Because they don't have the grounding in Occlumency?"

"And why did she not invite one of them to help study that, hm?" Sirius asked.

Because Hermione doesn't know how to dance the troika. "We used paired exercises."

"So why not ask two of them?"

"… Shut up, Padfoot."

Sirius laughed. "I'll take care of mine; someone had better deal with his."

"I'll go," said Tonks.

"You've already been out all night," said Lupin, "I can manage."

"And I screwed up twice," said Tonks. "I reckon I owe the rest of you a check-in at the very least."

"Everyone else," Mr. Weasley said, "let's pack, quickly."

Harry went up to Ron's room to stuff the clothes he'd left lying around into his purse, which he had under his robes. _Voldemort, do you know how Hermione's going?_

_I do not. I'm still busy with your other friend._

_Because __Tonks __is about to check in on her, and if she's not home when they do…_

_I suppose that means we're going with the Imperius-and-Obliviate excuse. Oh well._

_Well, how's Ron doing?_

_Intransigent. I don't think I'm going to get anywhere with him. How'd the post-mortem go with the Order?_

_Not quite perfectly. They __worked out some details, like Castlewright, and…_

_.. ... ..._

_The Daily Prophet_

_Marionette Man Burns Down Ministry, Declared Full Outlaw_

_Five dead, sixteen-year-old in St. Mungo's_

_DMLE Head Sacked_

.. ... ...

Hermione and Ron showed up at the Black Hole at almost the exact same time, mid-morning that day. Both were immediately fussed over by Mrs. Weasley and Harry.

"Harry left me in a barn somewhere in Essex," said Ron. "I just woke up. It's taken me a few hops to get here."

"Do you remember what happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Yeah, but it's kind of fuzzy," said Ron. "Didn't Harry tell you everything?"

"I did," said Harry. "Hermione, what about you? Tonks came back last night saying you weren't home."

"I was with the raid on the Ministry," said Hermione.

"Really?" said Harry. "Are you okay? What were you doing there?"

"They sneaked into my home last night and put me under Imperius." She shivered theatrically; Harry hugged her. "Thanks, Harry. Wait … how do you know about it?" she added for show; she must have recognised his voice on the night.

"I'll tell you about it later," he said with a wink. "How'd you escape?"

"When one last Blasting Curse landed just near me, the shock must have broken the curse, and I Apparated out through Castlewright's hole in the Jinx. I wound up somewhere in south London, and I stayed there until dawn because I'm not licensed to Apparate at night."

"_That_'s what stopped you?" Ron asked. "You were part of a Death Eater attack on the Ministry and it's been half blown up, and you didn't want to Apparate on a partial licence?"

"I did give Professor Llywarch my word," Hermione said properly. "And I didn't do anything illegal; I was under Imperius the entire time."

"Did they hurt you?" Mrs. Weasley asked, tagging Ron out and Hermione in to her hug. "There've always been stories of girls put under Imperius…"

"No, I'm fine," said Hermione, "just a little bruised."

"We should still give you both full check-ups, though," Mrs. Weasley ruled. "You might have been splashed by a curse with slow-acting side effects."

Harry, who had had to put up with a brief diagnosis from Sturgis Podmore the night before, sat with them while each received diagnostic charms. Hermione was fine, just tired and dizzy; apparently that Atramenta woman was lucky after all. Ron was perfect, except for one thing: there were traces of Hair Growth Salve in his blood.

"… Hair Growth," Ron repeated.

"That's what the charms are saying," said Podmore with a frown. His wand tip kept blinking yellow. "There's no doubt. It looks exactly like standard Hair Growth Salve."

"But that's absurd," said Hermione. "I mean for one thing, his hair isn't growing. Could it be some other, similar substance giving a false positive?"

"It'd need to be awfully similar," said Podmore. "In ingredients and manufacture. And you never mentioned touching any liquids."

_Voldemort? Hair Growth Salve?_

_What about it?_

… _Do I really have to ask?_

There came one of Voldemort's mental sighs. _He got sprightly while we were talking and I told Bella to subdue him without harming him. She used a Depilatory Jinx._

…

_Yes, I realise __she's completely insane__._

_Why exactly do you __even __keep her on staff? She sounds like a liability in any situation calling for tactics other than mass Unforgiveables._

_I'll tell you when you're older._

"You were splashed by that brain juice pretty badly," Harry said. "It might be that."

"Brain juice?" Podmore asked.

"There was a tank of brain things suspended in a green liquid," said Harry. "It was thicker than water, maybe one or two psys. It smelt pretty nauseating."

"That's much, much thinner than the Salve," said Podmore, "but … there might have been water added, and maybe iodised wirtle ichor … it might just about be possible, maybe. I'd be fascinated to learn what they were doing with brains, though, and why it needed such a suspension. Maybe a sort of nutrient bath…"

"So we're fine?" Ron asked.

"Let someone know if you spontaneously start growing hair," said Podmore, standing up to leave, "but I declare you both fine to go. Except, not to actually go out of the house, because your parents will ground you until you graduate if you do. To be honest, they probably will anyway." And he left.

"Like I'd want to go out with all of those psychos on the loose," said Ron. "I'm not Harry."

"Hey!"

"Remember how you were all set to go after Sirius, when you thought he betrayed your parents?"

"We thought he'd only killed one wizard by himself, and a dozen Muggles," said Harry. "The Marionette Man has killed forty witches and wizards. Even the _Death Eaters_ ran when he showed up. I'm not _that_ stupid."

"So, what do you think?" Ron asked. "About the entire night?"

"Um, not to be a killjoy," said Hermione, "but can we please not talk about it? Being under Imperius around _them_ … I'd rather not even think about it, if you don't mind. And I'm sure Harry doesn't want to, either."

"Yeah … thanks, Hermione," said Harry, who indeed did not wish to risk tripping up again and revealing more information.

"Oh, okay," asked Ron. "So, what should we do today? And don't say homework, honestly. It's Boxing Day."

"Who do you take me for?" Hermione asked. "I've already finished all of mine, of course."

"We should visit Neville," said Harry. "He's in St. Mungo's; it was in the _Prophet_."

"What did the _Quibbler_ say?" Hermione asked.

"'Fashion Industry Run By Vampires – the Shocking Exposé'."

"Ask a stupid question," Hermione admitted. "We mustn't go anywhere without an escort, what with everyone outside the Fidelius trying to kill us and all."

"So what do you think we should do?" Harry asked her.

"I was thinking of starting on Legilimency. What did you think of that book I sent you?"

"It had a lovely contents page," said Harry.

"Remember the part about it being a holiday?" Ron said. "You're not seriously thinking about starting on yet another difficult branch of magic already."

"But it's so much easier when we don't have classes to worry about," Hermione said.

"I'm not arguing about this," Ron said. "You're going to drive yourself insane. I'm having breakfast, and a shower, and we're _taking the day off_. Honestly, we just tried to foil a Death Eater raid; we should treat ourselves and take _two_ days off."

"Yeah, but we didn't pull it off," said Harry, "all we actually accomplished was somehow getting the Ministry blown up."

"What, and doing that without getting arrested doesn't deserve a reward?"


	14. Apologies

[_AN: I tried changing the title from Honey to Harry Potter and the Marionette Man, to You __C__atch More Flies…, the latter name suggested by Sakhr al-Jinni, in the hopes of winning over the H/V-squicked crowd. It didn't work, so I'm changing it back, __permanently__. Sorry about the desultory screwing around._]

Neville was at the train station with his grandmother, her holding her handbag, him leaning on a cane and looking very rugged. A pretty Hufflepuff hung off either arm.

"Er, hi," said Harry, when he Apparated in with the other students living at the Black Hole, plus most of the adults. Tonks was as Rosie, as usual for the train.

Dame Longbottom locked eyes with him, strode up, and hit him in the face with her bag. He was expecting this and rolled with it, unhurt.

"The next time you are foolish enough to walk into the jaws of death, you will kindly leave my grandson out of it," she said, "and the time after, you will not _leave_ him."

"Er," said Harry, "of – of course, Ma'am. I promise."

She glared for a moment. "Goodbye, Neville. Susan. Hannah. Behave." And she Disapparated.

Rosie made a whiplash sound. Harry made an impolite gesture back.

"I'm really, really sorry about that, Neville," he said. "I did try, I swear, but we got separated … by about a hundred tonnes of falling stone."

"If I didn't accept an apology like that, I wouldn't accept anything," said Neville; he extracted his hand from Hannah's to offer it to Harry. They shook.

"So, what happened to you?" Harry asked, indicating the cane.

"Crushing damage," he said. "They put me on some really foul potions to regenerate everything; there's been some muscle loss, but I should get it back within a few weeks." He stuck his leg forward, out of the envelope of his robes; it was a little hard to make out through his trousers, but it looked a bit thinner than it had. "What happened after I left?"

"Battle Royale," said Harry, "between the Death Eaters and Ministry security, until the Marionette Man showed up. Ron and I barely got out alive by Apparition."

"Neville said you had some sort of a psychic dream about You-Know-Who," said Susan.

"That's right," said Harry.

"And that proves that he really is back," Susan said. "I mean, you couldn't have found them without the dream and you couldn't have had the dream unless he was alive and planning it, right?"

"Hey, yeah," said Ron. "Harry, this is perfect. You can prove it to Fudge now. Write him a letter."

"Do you think that'll work?" Hermione asked sceptically. "He thought Dumbledore was just stirring up trouble; if you say it too, he might say _you_ had organised the raid."

"Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, join the Death Eaters?" Susan said.

"Yeah," Ron said. "The _Quibbler_ might believe it, but no-one else would, ever. Even Fudge couldn't be that thick."

"Telling him would have the cost that I'd to make it public that I was there," Harry said, thinking aloud, looking for an excuse not to do it, "which I'd prefer to avoid. I hate to think what the press would do with it. And they might revoke my Apparition licence."

"You don't seriously think that's more important than warning the world about him?" Ron asked.

"Well, I just think it'd be nice if I could get the message out in a way which isn't self-incriminating."

"Er," said Neville, "how exactly did you expect that to remain secret? I wound up in hospital; what did you think I'd say when they asked me how I got there?"

"Er," said Harry.

"I was surrounded by reporters almost as soon as I regained consciousness," said Neville.

"I can't think why it's not in the papers," Hannah said. Susan pulled out a copy of the _Prophet_; the lead stories were about the New Year's fireworks display, a rise in the price of Lacewings, and speculation about whether the Chudley Cannons were finally going to just give up and resign from the League.

"I'll bet Fudge is leaning on the papers," Ron said. "If it got out that he's been telling everyone that You-Know-Who was dead, letting him build strength all this time, he'd be ruined."

_Voldemort, are you suppressing Neville's story?_

_No. This is all Fudge. Fool._

_You don't think he can pull it off?_

_With Neville and Ron telling everyone in Hogwarts? I know when I have a losing hand. My cover's blown. Keep yours; tell everyone who'll listen that I'm alive. Mind Hermione does too._

"So, will you back us up?" Ron asked Harry.

"Of course," Harry said. "You're right; warning the world matters most. I was just trying to think things through before I did anything dumb. I'm told I don't do enough of that."

"Really," said Rosie.

She led them onto the train. Harry waved goodbye to the Order and followed her on board and into an empty compartment. It technically wasn't quite large enough for seven, but Hannah solved the problem by sitting on Neville's lap, much to Susan's displeasure. Neville turned scarlet. Harry and Ron looked away awkwardly; Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Do you get the feeling we're forgetting something?" she asked. The train's whistle blew; it rolled off.

"Every minute of every day," said Neville. Hannah and Susan laughed.

"Ginny," said Harry. "Wasn't she with us just a moment ago?"

"Yes," said Rosie, her wand appearing in her hand. "I'm going to look for her."

"I'd better be patrolling anyway," said Hermione.

"Should I?" Neville suggested.

"No," said Hannah.

"You know, why don't we take care of that for you," Harry said, and he and Ron hastily left, drawing down the blind before so doing.

"That was freaky," Ron said. "They were all over him like a rash."

"Well, to be fair," Rosie said, "he does have this _thing_."

"A thing?" Ron asked.

"You know. A _thing_. He's interesting, now he's fought the forces of evil, and has the scars to prove it. I prefer older men, of course, but, you know, aside from that, I see the appeal."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Hermione said, nodding.

"I'd probably keep on flirting with him," Rosie went on, "but it'd just be cruel to screw with him now, when he actually has a chance with some girls."

"Surely you'd prefer a bloke who _didn't_ get himself hurt," Ron said.

"Yes," said Hermione, "if you had gotten out by some expedient other than skilfully running away, I imagine girls would like that too. If you'd at least taken one of them down first, maybe."

"Hey, at least I got a warning off, unlike Harry," said Ron.

"Woe to the coward, that ever he was born," Hermione said with the air of one reciting a long-memorised poem, "who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn."

"Where does that leave me?" Harry asked. "I didn't draw my sword _or_ blow my horn."

"Can we please focus?" Rosie asked. "Mrs. Weasley will AK me if she hears I lost her youngest child before we even left the station."

"Unless You-Know-Who or the Marionette Man is on the train, she probably went to the bathroom and didn't say anything," Ron pointed out.

"I'm not willing to gamble my life on your mother listening to that," said Rosie, "but if you'd prefer, my money is that Susan's about to be free and fired up. The first girl always wins."

Ron considered this. "We should split up. Harry and me one way, girls the other?"

"It'd make more sense to put one girl in each group," said Rosie. "We can check the bathrooms that way."

Hermione was by Harry's side before Rosie finished speaking.

"So," Harry said as soon as they were out of earshot, "do you fancy Neville, then?"

"Me?" Hermione smiled. "No. I'm already spoken for."

"You are? By who?"

"That would be telling," Hermione said, with her best Mona Lisa smile.

Harry thought back to one long letter he'd seen her write a while earlier. "Krum?"

Hermione laughed at that. "No, we're just platonic pen-pals. I think he had a crush on me for a while, but I was a little young at the time."

"Er," said Harry. "Didn't you say that you and Su and…"

"She had graphs," Hermione said, turning pink.

They looked through windows into each compartment as they passed. It was actually quite interesting, seeing which people were with who; Gryffindors with Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws with Slytherins or in aloof eyries of their own; divisions mostly by year, but with siblings and couples and Quidditch teams and other clubs breaking things up; heavy gender segregation in the lower years, almost none for the seventh-years.

Dean and Seamus sat with a bunch of Hufflepuff sixth-years; close by, Lavender and Parvati were with some younger Slytherin girls. The Ravenclaws of their year were crowded into two carriages. The Hufflepuffs were spread out with friends from other years. In one compartment, Pansy Parkinson was alternately snogging Crabbe and Goyle.

"Eye bleach time," said Harry, turning away.

"I hate prefect duty sometimes," Hermione confessed. She wrenched the door open, yanked the blind down, and slammed the door shut.

"I thought she was Malfoy's girlfriend, anyway," Harry said.

"Was," Hermione said. "Didn't you notice her fuming at him during the Potions midyear?"

"I was a little busy with the exam. And the Occlumency/Legilimency duel."

"You do have peripheral vision, you know," Hermione chided. "In Arithmancy, one of the Ravenclaws told me they'd had some big fight. She accused him of cheating on her."

"Wouldn't put it past him," Harry said, "if only there were another girl alive whose stomach he didn't turn."

"She must be trying to make Malfoy jealous," Hermione said. "Honestly, some girls have no shame."

"Or sense," said Harry. "The least – and most – you can say for Malfoy is that he does have at least some taste, and anyone who'd touch either of those trolls, let alone both, most definitely does not. I wonder why they're putting up with having to – ew – share her?"

"Because there's no chance of any other girl letting either of them touch her, ever," Hermione said. "Where do you suppose Malfoy is, anyway? I've never seen him without those two."

They passed a compartment, empty except for Daphne, who was reading, her feet up on the seat opposite. She glanced up, caught Harry's eye, and curled a finger. He opened the door.

"Hey, Daphne," Harry said. "I don't suppose your investigators got anywhere with the Marionette Man, did they?"

"I think 'Greengrass' will do," she said, "and maybe. I'm not sure I believe their conclusions."

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked.

Daphne looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

"I'd better check the toilets anyway," she said, and left. Daphne motioned Harry to close the door and blind and sit.

"So?" Harry prompted.

"We finally got some information on him," Daphne said. "In the fight in the Department of Mysteries, the surviving security guards reported that he blasted prophecies around, stored in glass balls. Obviously, this meant there was broken glass everywhere. Investigators reconstructed the scene and, in roughly the right place, found a shard with his blood on it."

"So what can you do with that?" Harry asked. "I suppose you could put it in Polyjuice and get a look at his entire body, look for scars or something…"

"They did," said Daphne, "along with a battery of other tests. The Polyjuice drinker screamed for the entire hour and didn't remember it afterwards."

"What on earth does that imply?" asked Harry.

"The pain could mean anything. Not remembering it means that that body's brain is … wrong."

"He's crazy? I could have told you that."

Daphne shook her head. "As in, physically wrong. They didn't dissect the man to check, but the best guess is that his brain is malformed. Either something that shouldn't be there but is or should be but isn't."

"As in, a birth defect?" Harry asked.

"You said he was abnormally tall and thin, and he moved oddly," Daphne said. "They supposed that that may have been down to a genetic disorder; it most closely matches the Marfanoid habitus."

Harry stared at her. "Did you already know that term, or did you look it up specifically because the investigators mentioned it?"

She glared. "Namely, the Marfanoid habitus as caused by Lujan-Fryns syndrome, which, it so happens, can also cause insanity. Mostly it just causes stupidity, though, and our man isn't stupid."

"But Dumbledore's brilliant," said Harry, "so those could cancel out."

"Maybe," said Daphne. "But it's caused by a dominant gene, and Dumbledore clearly doesn't have it, so our PIs speculate that our man was Dumbledore's nephew, rather than son. His sister, Ariana, disappeared from the public eye at age 14, years and years ago. Their proposed timeline is that she became pregnant by an unknown father, and they decided to pretend she'd died to avoid a scandal. Lujan-Fryns is caused by an X-linked gene, so she must have had it; all accounts have her as being thin and gawky and rather" she tapped her temple "special. She passed the gene along to their son. Being illegitimate, and, by your account, a freak, they raised him in secret."

"Don't say that word," said Harry, who had bad experiences of it.

Daphne shrugged, indifferent. "He looked unusual enough that a merciful mother would have drowned him, then. I thought the other way was more concise."

"So why would you not believe that?" Harry asked. "It seems to fit pretty well."

Daphne gave him a patronising look. "Because Lujan-Fryns is absurdly rare; it was only named less than ten years ago, by Muggles. They found no history of Marfanoid in Dumbledore's line, so it would imply the incredibly rare mutation was in the last generation."

"Or there was some other illegitimacy in his family tree," Harry said, "which didn't get out. I thought the old families lied about affairs all the time. Ariana could easily be only a half-sister."

"True," Daphne granted. "But it's still rare, and it still doesn't explain why – oh. I see. Number eleven Grimmauld Place is one of Dumbledore's properties."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Cut the coy act. Gryffindors can't lie. You think you can, but you really, really can't."

"How on Earth did you deduce that?" Harry asked, deciding not to correct her error.

"You reacted when I said he Apparated there and disappeared, after the Hogsmeade Fire," Daphne said. "Therefore, the location meant something to you. It's apparently also under some kind of warding, even though our PIs never found any, meaning it's under subtle, well-done ones. The only person you know who could do that who might tell you is Dumbledore. More importantly, you believe he's his son, so you must have evidence I don't. If he disappeared into Dumbledore's well-hidden, well-defended property, that makes the theory much more believable." Her eyes narrowed. "But then you're also on Dumbledore's side … but you didn't know about his nephew, unless you were playing dumb for my benefit … which Gryffindors aren't cunning enough to do."

"Er?" Harry said.

"It means I don't have to kill you," Daphne said, with a rare smile. "Yet."

"… Is Slytherin like this all the time?" Harry asked.

"Not really," she said. "The only person in my year smart enough to challenge me is Davis, and she's not interested in playing the game. She spends all her time with her Ravenclaw friends; she's not particularly welcome in Slytherin."

"Any reason?" Harry asked.

"The rest of us picked on her for our first few years," Daphne said candidly, "until she snapped and … got creative. After Perks got out of the hospital wing, we decided to call truce."

"And since when do purebloods know about genetics, anyway?" Harry asked. "I thought the old families just blindly went for purity, and so you got inbred idiots like … well."

She gave him a frosty look.

"Not you!" he said. "I meant Malfoy, obviously, and Crabbe and Goyle."

"Obviously," she said. "And the other old families do. But Greengrass farms, and you can't farm without actually understanding something of genetics. We have a family rule, that the firstborn cannot marry without a four-generation family tree from their spouse, with no blood overlap. We never bother to correct the other families' … misapprehensions because we'd rather compete with, as you put it, inbred idiots like Malfoy."

"So why is blood purity an issue?" Harry asked.

"Because we understand genetics," said Daphne, "but we understand artificial selection better. Magical ability is a dominant trait; Muggle-borns are genetic mutants."

"That's rubbish," said Harry. "What about Hermione? She's the best witch in our year, and a Muggle-born, no matter what Malfoy says."

"Yes, but that's probably down to other factors than her breeding," said Daphne. "Because she was raised with a good work ethic, because she had a good diet, who knows. Assuming that it's possible to select for magical ability at all, it's very unlikely that a first-generation mutant would have better genes than someone with a long pedigree."

"Do you have to use that word?" Harry said. "It sounds insulting."

"It's precise. And it's a legitimate concern. She might be strong herself but produce magically weak children, and with no magical family tree, we have no way to discount that possibility. With a pureblood, we can."

"That sounds like a clever rationalisation of eugenics," Harry said.

Daphne shrugged. "I suppose you'd prefer to marry a pretty woman, who is strong and smart and brave, and who will pass those traits on to your children?"

"That's completely different."

"Yes," said Daphne, "in that you haven't thought it through, and it'll be less effective."

There came a knock at the door; Harry opened it to admit Hermione.

"You've been talking for ages," she said, "did you really find out that much?"

"No, we'd just progressed onto comparing philosophies again," said Daphne. "His are interesting. It's refreshing having someone try to honestly defend the underdog, rather than kicking it in the ribs, as most Slytherins do."

"My pleasure," said Harry, and left with Hermione. "So, no Ginny?"

"No, but you would not believe how many people are snogging," she said. "It must be the aftereffects of mistletoe. That, and none of the prefects outside of Hufflepuff are doing anything to stop it."

"I thought the Ravenclaws were sticklers for rules," he said.

"They're pretty insular," she said. "They only really care about rules if breaking them would hurt a Ravenclaw; Anthony told me he's caught his House mates with dozens of Filch's banned items and hasn't reported any of them."

"I wish Percy had been like that," said Harry.

"So," she said, "have you thought more about Legilimency? I'd understand if you wanted to work out an Animagus form with Ron instead … honestly, I thought you'd flock to that."

"Er," said Harry.

"If you haven't seen Legilimency successfully used before, you might think it a bit woolly," she said. "Oh, listen to me, bleating about that."

"… How on Earth did you know? I didn't tell anyone."

Hermione grinned.

"You don't already know Legilimency, do you?" he asked.

"No. And it wouldn't work even if I did, because we both keep our shields up around the clock."

He thought. "You expected us to fail with the revelation magic, so you read up on it so you could help us when we asked. Then you cast the revelation charm on me without me noticing."

"It wasn't that subtle, actually," she said. "Remember that time I told you I wanted to test out a diagnostic charm on someone? Technically I wasn't lying; it is diagnostic."

"Why didn't you tell me at the time?" Harry asked.

"Because it felt like a spoiler," she said. "Ron would have yelled at me for being a know-it-all again. And honestly, I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Besides, you never seemed at all enthusiastic about being an Animagus."

"That's not true," Harry said. "It would've been fun."

Hermione ignored this. "It felt like … it was something you wanted to want, but which you didn't actually want, if you follow."

"Perfectly," said Harry.

"Like you thought it would somehow bring you closer to Sirius and your father," she went on, "following in their footsteps … but it's not really you, is it? You're not the reincarnation of your father. By all accounts, you have completely different personalities."

"That's not true," Harry said, starting to get annoyed. "People who knew him say we have plenty in common. What are you trying to say?"

"That you shouldn't _try_ to be like him," she said. They stopped in the middle of the corridor. "In all the ways that count, you already are, and he wouldn't want you to change the others. You're already good and brave and ha–" She checked herself. "And that's good, but you're also different in others. You fly a different position, you're not a practical joker, you're not obsessed with girls, and there's no reason you should change any of those just to be more like him, is there? Those parts of your personality wouldn't be better if you changed them, just different.

"And in the same way, if you tailored your education to shadow his, well, would that make you any better than if you studied what you liked and were good at? I don't think so. I think if you follow him, you'll just be stuck in his shadow your entire life. Much better to strike out and do whatever you think you could succeed and be happy doing, because you're not living for him, you're living for you."

"Er. Hermione…"

She blushed. "Sorry. I worry about you a lot."

"I see," said Harry, not really seeing. "So why do you think this means I want to learn Legilimency?"

"Because your father was clever and hard-working," Hermione said, "and those are traits you should try to emulate. He and his friends worked out the very difficult Animagus transformations at your age with no help. You shouldn't try to do the exact same thing as him, but you should try to be the best you can be, and he's a good yardstick."

"I meant, why Legilimency in particular."

"For the same reason I want to," Hermione said, "it sounds very useful in our … line of work. And, not to be critical, but in regular coursework, you don't push yourself very hard, and you often get stuck."

"When you say _not_ critical…" Harry said.

"So the fact that you'll have a partner who will push you and, again not trying to sound arrogant, but who can usually help you when you do get stuck, would make it much easier," Hermione said.

"Isn't the idea not to do what's easy?" Harry asked.

"It's not about how much effort you put in, but what you achieve," Hermione said. "Obviously you can't achieve much without putting in the work, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't take what help you can get when it's offered."

"Hm. Do you have a study plan in mind?" Harry asked. They began walking and checking through compartment windows again.

"It'll be sort of like Occlumency was," Hermione said. "I skimmed a chapter or two" meaning read cover to cover "of that book I gave you before I bought it; it looks harder, I'm not sure we'll get it by the end of the year, but it's just a matter of dedication, really."

"Sounds alright," Harry said. "So I suppose you want to stop the Occlumency dancing?"

Hermione blushed. "Actually … well, it is good exercise, and I've lost weight and gained muscle tone, and I know it's vain of me but it is _really_ nice knowing I have better calves than Pansy."

"You think it's fun?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Hermione. "But if you don't want to, I guess I could…"

"No, I need the exercise too," Harry said with a touch of bitterness, "now I don't have Quidditch, and it beats jogging. Just, no more Wagner or Benny Goodman."

They had come to the end of the carriage; there was one more past it.

"Should we turn back?" Hermione asked. "I don't think Ginny would have wandered out of the compartment without telling us, and if the others haven't found her, we should meet up with them to decide what to do."

"Yeah, okay," said Harry, "just let me take a look down the corridor." He opened the first connecting door, and Ginny and Malfoy fell toward him; he dodged backward. Malfoy landed on top and looked up. Both his and Ginny's lips were visibly bruised.

"Good God," Hermione said.

"Do you _mind_?" Malfoy asked. "We were a little busy."

"Get off me, you git," Ginny said, and shoved him off; he gracefully rolled to his feet.

"What the," Harry said, his mind refusing to connect the dots.

"What were you even doing out there?" Hermione asked. "It's freezing, it's unstable between two carriages, and that has to be literally the most uncomfortable place to lean in the train."

"The compartments were all full, and we wanted some privacy," Draco said. He shut the door behind him. "Thanks for killing the mood."

"Oh, shut up, you windbag," said Ginny.

"What," said Harry.

"You're even more eloquent than usual," Malfoy said. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Will you get lost?" said Ginny.

"You weren't," Hermione said, looking at Ginny, "you know, it was _consensual_, wasn't it?"

"Oh, certainly," said Malfoy, with a touch of braggadocio. "What sort of question is that? I have enough girls throwing themselves at me; I don't need to force one to kiss me. It wasn't so consensual for me, though; she can be _pushy_ after a week or two's deprivation."

"What," said Harry.

"Sod _off_, Malfoy," said Ginny, so red her freckles were getting hard to make out. "Both of you – please – don't tell Ron. You know what he'd be like."

"He'd tell you to find someone who wasn't a blood supremacist, or a git, or an idiot," Hermione said, accurately, "and then demand to know why you chose to pick all three."

"She likes my body," Malfoy said in a stage whisper; Ginny drew her wand on him. "Also, I think she likes the thrill of secretly dating a boy she knows her brothers would sooner curse than look at. Do me a favour and don't tell them, will you, Dolohov, Pothead? Be a damn shame if they started keeping a closer eye on her."

"This is," Harry said, "I don't even, he's not blackmailing you or anything? Why _are_ you with him? You're not acting like you like even him."

"No," said Ginny, "I don't. He's like potato chips: a fat lump of nothing and you'd be happier if they'd never existed, but pathologically addictive."

"I'm right here, you know," said Malfoy.

"Yes, I do know," Ginny agreed. "So no, he's not blackmailing me, and we'll definitely break up pretty soon anyway – we have like ten times already, we just need to make it stick – so please, _please_ don't tell Ron or any of the rest of my family, or they'll go crazy for nothing."

"I, er," said Harry, still not quite sure what to make of this, "how did you even start?"

"She looked like she needed cheering up after she _lost_ at Quidditch," said Malfoy.

"You call that _cheering_?" Ginny asked.

"Well, you weren't complaining about losing afterwards," Malfoy said, eyes sparkling.

Harry stared. His choices were to ask questions he didn't want answered or surrender. "I don't mind who you're with. Although I really think you could do better."

"Oh, _thank you_," said Ginny. "And I think so too. Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "I really, really hate having to do this sort of thing, but, clearly, Ron will miss the point entirely, and Harry doesn't have the spine to tell his best mate's little sister off, so it looks like I'm the one who has to take the pound of flesh for this. Ginny, six months ago, I told you in confidence that I spent one night with a friend. You broke that confidence, told everyone, have been talking down to me ever since, and even incited your family to do the same. This has strained and almost broken one of my two best friendships, ever. For you to do that and then turn around and go with Draco Malfoy of all people, _and then_ demand that I keep your secret for you, is beyond the height of hypocrisy."

"No it's not," Ginny said. "I've never slept with him."

"Yet," said Malfoy.

"Shut up, Malfoy," all three Gryffindors said in unison. Hermione continued. "The point is that you broke my trust, and worse, you did it in a way that you knew would hurt me, for no good reason, because of something which was never any of your business in the first place. You don't have the right to tell me what I do with my own body in my own time with other fully consenting people when we don't hurt anyone else."

"Oh, this is rich," Ginny replied, her voice rising. "You're saying all this, and then you're going to turn around and tell everyone about me!"

"I won't," Hermione said. "Because whatever you may or may not do with Malfoy or whoever else is none of my business, nor is it Ron's nor the rest of the school's. I always try to be a good person, so I will respect that, whether or not you would. I'm telling you this, because you've been poisoning my friendships out of gossipy spite, you've been lying to your own friends, and Harry told me you even hexed him once because you couldn't control your nosiness, even when he obviously had a good reason for hiding something. Since Malfoy was there at the time, so Harry said, presumably it was at least partly to impress him. You haven't been acting like a friend should."

Ginny's hackles had been rising visibly throughout this until the last sentence, which hit home. She stepped back a pace.

"Ooh, burn," said Malfoy.

"And you, Malfoy," Hermione said, rounding on him, "are a git. You may think you're funny, but the fact is, the only people who laugh at what you think pass for jokes are bottom-feeding sycophants who want your money far, far more than they want your company. You have the most repellent entitlement complex I have ever seen, made all the worse by the fact that you're basically incompetent at everything, and for the record? Girls don't throw themselves at you. Pansy has low standards because frankly there's no-one else who'd have her who isn't at least a quarter troll, because she's just as unlikeable as you and doesn't even have money, which puts her somewhere around the level of a courtesan, and not even a talented one. And if Ginny's only with you to annoy her overprotective brothers, that isn't actually a compliment. Even so, treat her well, because it's the nearest thing to a legitimate romance you'll ever have."

They all stared at her as she stopped for breath, and Ginny's and Malfoy's eyes rose over her shoulder. Ron and Rosie were approaching.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. "What's Malfoy doing here?"

"And as for _you_," Hermione went on, getting her second wind, "you spend half your life complaining about being poor, and the other half shirking your homework. If you want a better life for yourself and your one-day children, you're going to need to grow up. And even if you don't, I do, so I'll thank you not to put my efforts down."

"You're one to talk about put-downs," Ron said. "Newsflash, Hermione: most people aren't as smart as you and don't have your concentration. You can't expect to hold everyone else to your standard, and the fact that we don't achieve it doesn't make us idiots, because the world isn't divided into geniuses like you and idiots like him." He indicated Malfoy.

"I know I'm not perfect," Hermione said, "but I _try_. I've been trying since first year to be less bossy, and I think I've improved some, but changing fundamental parts of one's personality is _hard_."

"Well, you're telling me to change my personality, too," Ron pointed out.

"As I have since first year, and yet you still copy my homework in every subject."

"Well, _you_ still have only two friends," Ron said.

This touched a nerve. "Haven't I shown, every Defence class this year, that I have friends other than you and Harry?" she hissed.

"Ones you slept with, yeah."

The others sucked in breath and stepped back. Hermione looked furious enough to hit or curse Ron.

"I need to patrol the train," she said at last, and turned on her heel and went into the next carriage, slamming the door behind her.

"That … sounds like my cue to leave," said Malfoy, and wandered off in the opposite direction.

"Yeesh," said Rosie. "What just happened?"

"I," said Ginny, "Harry? I'm really, really sorry about that time I hexed you. I – I wasn't thinking, I just – well, I don't want to make excuses. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry."

"That's okay," said Harry. "I know Fred and George; if I couldn't take the odd hex, I'd have worse problems. But I'm not the ones you should be apologising to."

Ginny sighed. "I know. Ron? The time when you and Neville fused yourselves, and I let Malfoy in? I'm sorry about that."

"I'm not sorry I got revenge by putting boogers in your dinner the next night," Ron said.

"You did what?" Ginny said, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Uh, you should also say that to Neville," Harry put in hastily. "Not now, he's busy. How about Hermione? Someone should calm her down, and after that two friends line, probably not me or Ron."

Ginny bit her lip. "She'll calm down by herself eventually. Maybe I should wait for that. She looked pretty mad."

"And is that how a friend should act?" Harry asked.

Ginny sighed again and went after Hermione.

"So…" Rosie said.

"You know Hermione," Harry said. "Pushes herself to the limit, stresses out, snaps, cries on someone's shoulder, and is fine. Rinse and repeat. Although, Ron … I'm not taking her side, but she _is_ under a lot of stress. Can't you give her a break?"

"Why should I be the one to apologise?" he said, folding his arms. "She attacked me, if you didn't notice, and I didn't say anything she didn't know was true."

"Because she's more stressed out than you, and there's not the slightest chance she'll apologise first?" Harry said.

"Also," said Rosie, "since when are you a moral crusader? I've heard stories about Bill, and Sirius, and Harry's father, and what they did with girls when they was your age, and I thought you liked them all."

"Well," Ron began.

"Just warning you in advance," Rosie added, "if your answer sounds sexist, I'll probably hex you."

Ron thought for a minute.

"If it had been me," said Harry, "would you have stopped talking to me, or would we still be high-fiving about it?"

Ron thought for a moment more. "Nuts," he said.

"So," Rosie said. "Are you going to apologise to her?"

Ron glanced at the shut connecting door. "Well, maybe I should give Ginny time to get hers out. She'll probably dither for a while. And they'll need time to talk and smooth things over themselves."

"Dithering, like you are?" Harry asked.

"I thought you said you weren't taking sides," Ron said.

"I'm not," Harry said, "but she told me a home truth, too. I'm spineless."

Ron stared. "You, spineless?"

"Yeah. Me. Ever since the last time we fought, and you weren't talking to me, I've been too scared to tell either you or Hermione off when you've been out of line. I couldn't take losing either of you again. Well, she's right, but I'm a Gryffindor, and I'm not about to be outdone by Neville as he was in first year. I'm not going to shy away from doing the right thing because I'm scared, even of being alone. And right now, the right thing is telling you to go in there and mend your friendship."

Ron opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Right," he said, and set off after Ginny and Hermione.

Harry and Rosie looked at each other.

"You do realise we've gotten separated _again_," she said.

"Come on," Harry said, "they'll be back in a few minutes. Let's find another compartment. This has been much more interesting than sitting, though; I can see why Malfoy always walks around on the train."


	15. Breakfast and Dinner

_What is the essence of Dark magic?_

_My, that's an open-ended question._

_It's widely agreed that use of Dark magic is evil. You use Dark magic. You claim not to be evil._

_The Dark/Light dichotomy is laughably simplistic. The Ministry likes to classify individual spells as Dark or otherwise, so the Banishing Charm is not Dark but the Killing Curse is. However, there's not very much practical difference between the two when the former is used on someone whose back is to an eighth-floor window. A lot of abilities are classed as Dark for no reason at all, like Parseltongue._

_Wasn't that actually because you used it? You and other Dark wizards?_

_Correlation does not imply causation. People like Dumbledore prefer to say that magic is Dark if it has malicious intent; that is, he uses it as a strong synonym for evil. Which is a classic No True Scotsman fallacy, of course…_

_It's also subjective. Dementors are Dark creatures – I could also go on about classifying creatures as Dark or otherwise, just think about poor old Remus – so the Patronus Charm is Light. But there are spells that specifically affect Goblins. Do those count? The Ministry has reclassified them several times, depending on the state of Goblin-Wizard relations…_

_Philosophy aside, there is some intuitive notion of Dark and Light spells; I suppose people think of a spell as Dark if you have to think hard to construct a scenario where it would be beneficial, and conversely for Light spells. By that, I'd estimate that twenty-five percent of all spells count as Dark, ten are Light – medical magic, Patronus and so on – and the other two thirds are neutral, like the Summoning Charm. It so happens that Dark magic is the most effective twenty-five for many important tasks._

_Such as killing people._

_I was under the impression you've been feeling some murderous urges of your own. But yes. I'm always the underdog. I have to use every last advantage I can scrape up in every fight, and that means I can't afford to forgo the most potent quarter of my repertoire. For that matter, I'm sceptical of the philosophy of never teaching Dark Arts, too._

_What, in school?_

_In the last war, until Crouch authorised use of the Unforgivables, my Death Eaters went through the DMLE and Order of the Phoenix like a Bludger through wet tissue paper, because the apex of their arsenals was usually a Blasting Charm. The Death Eaters, by contrast, use massed Cruciatus and Killing Curses. Any approach which gets you slaughtered en masse by the first revolutionaries to raise a wand is a bad approach._

_Aren't you supposed to have been the underdog?_

_Despite this firepower advantage, a wide-ranging alliance of quote-unquote Dark creatures, and the fact that the DMLE thinks tactics refer to parasites you can stick in corkboard, the war still drug on for over a decade. We were INSANELY outnumbered, and had to deal with juggernauts like Dumbledore and Ollivander._

_Ollivander?!_

_Remember his sign? "Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC"? You don't see three millennia by drinking lots of milk._

_I assumed that meant his family._

_What, one family staying in the same business for over fifty generations? Why on Earth would you think that?_

_Because for some reason I didn't assume that the man who sold me my wand was an immortal quasi-vampire. Why didn't you tell me earlier?_

_You never asked. I couldn't see it helping, but I could see you doing something Gryffindorish, like firebombing his shop. But since you seem to have learnt something of patience, I suppose I could name some of the confirmed sacrificers. Those two; the Minister for Magic of the day usually does it at least once; the Flamels, obviously, who I seriously doubt are as dead as they're pretending; and Madame Pince._

… _You're messing with me, aren't you._

_I tried talking philosophy with her once. She asked me to come up with one good reason why a human life was morally more valuable than a book. I never talked philosophy with her again. Speaking of which, since when are you so ruminative?_

_You know how it is when you're in the shower._

_In the – god DAMN it, Potter._

And the connection went dead. Harry turned off the water, dried off, got dressed and went down for breakfast. Since he'd spent so much longer than usual, the Great Hall was packed when he got in and talking loudly. Almost every conversation stopped when he arrived, then restarted in whispers. He sighed and went to sit in the space next to Ron, on whose other side was Hermione.

"So, I take it the rumour mill's been running full speed?" Harry asked.

"I'm surprised it hadn't finished by dinner last night, to be honest," Ron said. "I don't think they all necessarily believe you yet, but they will once you give a proper account and they're not listening to something exaggerated five times over."

"How should we go about that, do you think?" Hermione asked. "If Fudge has the _Prophet_ locked down, you won't be able to use that. I suppose you could always try _Witch Weekly_ again."

"Honestly, I think I'd rather keep my dignity," said Harry.

There came a lull in the conversation around them, which stretched into a silence and rippled past in a wave. In its wake came the sound of Lavender's radio.

"Did you believe him?" came Meri Filandra's voice. "I mean, if it was just a dream…"

"He seemed really confident," said an unknown male. "And, well, crazy things happen around him all the time, you know? Remember the Triwizard Tournament? Anyway, I trusted him."

"Oh, Merlin," said Neville, "she's gotten someone to do a dramatic re-enactment of our interview."

"So what happened next?" said Filandra.

"We disguised ourselves and Apparated to where Harry said to go," said Neville's voice actor, "and he was right: there were a dozen Death Eaters already there, including one with this pale, snaky face. It looked just like the photo of You-Know-Who in the books and old newspaper clippings."

By now, the entire Great Hall was otherwise silent, even the teachers avidly listening to the radio. Professor Flitwick motioned with his wand, raising the volume so everyone could hear.

_Are you getting this, Voldemort?_

_Yes. Gripping stuff._

"You're absolutely certain?" said Filandra.

"Positive. He was before my time, but there's no mistaking a face like that. And all the other Death Eaters did what he said. You-Know-Who is definitely back. And if he isn't, how do you think Harry knew exactly when and where to meet them? He must have some sort of a connection, probably something to do with his scar, and–"

There came a screech of static, and everyone reflexively clapped their hands over their ears. It cut out after a moment, and the disembodied female voice from the Ministry elevator took over.

"We apologise for the interruption," it said, "but a state of emergency has been declared, and the airwaves are shutting down until order is restored. Please remain calm, stay in your homes until further notice, and enjoy this relaxing music. Thank you." It was replaced by _Tequila_. Conversations broke out throughout the Hall.

"Whoa," said Ron to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Look, Dumbledore's leaving. I'll bet my Firebolt he's at the Ministry within ten minutes."

"Do you mean the ruins of the last one," asked Ron, "or the replacement tent village they set up in an empty lot eight miles to the north of it?"

"Probably the village," said Harry, "or maybe wherever that message was broadcast from. He needs that block taken down, fast."

"True," said Ron, "but Merlin, declaring a state of emergency … Hermione, what are you doing?"

She stopped dancing in her seat, looking guilty. "I like jazz," she said defensively. Harry began on his corn flakes.

_Dumbledore's left the table._

_I'm waiting for him to appear in New Brighton; I'm watching the fun through a telescope. Fudge really is predictable. DMLE troops seized the lighthouse a minute ago._

_The lighthouse?_

_Better known as the central office and broadcasting tower of the British Wizards Broadcasting Group. I think I'm in for a free show. Yes, there's the signature flash of his blasted familiar._

_Fawkes?_

_I really hate him. Do you have any idea how difficult it is, trying to deal with an immortal, infinitely loyal beast that can, among other things, revive the almost dead and punch through Castlewright's best anti-teleportation charms?_

_I can imagine. What's going on?_

_It looks like Dumbledore's talking with an Auror. Ooh, there he goes, opening with a Stunner to the face. I seem to recall the DMLE being made of sterner stuff than this during the last war; look, that one missed at ten paces. If one of my Death Eaters did that, I'd have him used for target practice._

_Are you going to do anything?_

_Yes; I've sent Bella for popcorn. And of course I'm not getting involved here. I can't take Dumbledore in a duel; I'm not about to attack him when there's a platoon of redrobes who'll side with him if I show my face. He's inside now; the signal should be back in a minute._

_If he's unstoppable in a fight, how exactly do you plan to stop him? Assassination?_

_I wish. Undoubtedly, he has a … certain enchanted object which would let him regenerate in the same way I did at the graveyard. No, for when he dies, I plan to use the kettle you gave me at the Circus. It turns out it's a Volâme._

…

_It's a magical doodad that will prevent him from coming back, but it needs to be present when he dies. Unfortunately, it counts as Dark and will trigger a dozen alarms if I try to have it smuggled into Hogwarts, so that's out. No, I'll have to kill him myself._

_How?_

_He's superhuman but not invincible. Even he can't defeat my entire force single-handed. At least, I hope not. I need to isolate and confine him, and I'm still working on the details of that._

Lavender's radio hissed again for a moment, and the music cut out. There was a moment's swearing, a few crashes, and a continuous crackling, as of something burning.

"This is Meri Filandra," it said at length. "We were just raided by the DMLE, citing martial law, which Albus Dumbledore, former head of the Wizengamot, assures me is illegal without a Wizengamot convocation, so … well, I'm a reporter with a story, so as long as this transceiver remains open, I'm going to keep telling it. According to testimony from Neville Longbottom, son of the respected Auror veterans Frank and Alice Longbot–" Static broke out again, but only for a moment. "-Know-Who is once again alive and active, and was involved on the attack which destroyed the Ministry in the early hours of Boxing Day, apparently independently of the Marionette Man."

The entire school listened, spellbound, as she went back over her interview with Neville, interspersed with static presumably from Ministry jammers, which Dumbledore kept disabling. There was the occasional sound of incantations in the distance. After she finished with Neville's account of the attack, she began her own analysis.

"And if Harry Potter was not forewarned, possibly as a side effect of surviving the Killing Curse as a baby or some unknown Dark magic of You-Know-Who, there's no other conceivable way he could have known about the meeting of Death – hey, we're not taking callers now, get off the line–"

"Rita Skeeter, of the _Daily Prophet_," said a familiar voice, "reporting to you _live_, dear listeners, from the Wizengamot, where an emergency session has been called by Amelia Bones, former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and boy, does she look angry! She was unceremoniously fired by Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge barely a week ago for failing to catch the elusive Marionette Man even after three attacks, and now is out for blood, moving to impeach Fudge for gross incompetence and misuse of authority in declaring martial law. Conspicuously absent are Albus Dumbledore, disgraced former head of the meet and well-known eccentric, and Fudge himself, who according to rumours is hiding in his summer home in–"

"Rita, _get off the line_," Filandra repeated, more loudly. There was a feedback whine. "What are you even doing in there, with a Pullman Lodestone no less, if you're live? Journalists aren't allowed in the Wizengamot, that's an Azkaban-worthy offence."

"Information wants to be free, Meri," Skeeter said smoothly. "Bones has the stand, and is denouncing Fudge for his shamelessly political scapegoating of her after Boxing Day. 'Fudge refused to admit that You-Know-Who is back,' she says, 'instead choosing to blame me for failing to capture the Marionette Man, despite a fifteen percent real decrease in funding since I took office and despite the fact that if he were in charge of the DMLE, he couldn't find the rest room without neon arrows.' She looks ready to curse the first person to interrupt."

"Richard," said Filandra, muffled, "find whoever's controlling the feed and hex him."

There was another blast of static and a high-pitched tone, then a clipping-distorted explosion, and a moment's silence, before Skeeter resumed.

"–bridge, Senior Undersecretary and second-in-command to Fudge, known for proposing the Merfolk Identification Bill, which cryptozoologist Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank has described as 'attempted supervillainy'. But Umbridge appears to be throwing Fudge to the dragons! 'The esteemed Minister acted in violation of approved Ministry guidelines and my personal advice,' she says, 'and despite my loyalty to him and his administration, I did not and do not approve of such actions.' Hah! So much for loyalty."

Another voice cut in. "Let's go, she's coming – ah, son of a–"

There came the sound of more spellfire, and someone swore so colourfully that Professor McGonagall Silenced the radio.

"That … that will do," she said. Professor Flitwick looked at her hopefully; she glared back. "First period classes begin in three minutes, and I shall be deducting points for lateness." She pushed out her chair, stood and left. Snape nodded, cast a glare at his first-period Hufflepuffs (he didn't exactly like their Ravenclaw partners, but he certainly preferred them), and followed suit.

The Gryffindors exchanged glances, then by common consent headed over to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was indoors again. As usual, Professor Llywarch was hiding, this time disguised as a pot plant; she awarded Su seven points for spotting her.

"Welcome back all!" she said, taking her usual position, cross-legged on her desk. "Now, since you've all redoubtably completed your holiday assignments, I'm sure we can all move on to this unit's major project, the Disillusionment Charm. Hah! Or I can listen to a barrage of excuses for not doing them. Which probably won't matter anyway, since you're all going to spend the entire period specularising about Brown's wireless, but even so I'm never one to pass up the opportunity to deduce points."

"I think you mean 'deduct'," said Kevin.

"I think you mean 'please take points off Ravenclaw'," Llywarch said.

"Uh … on second thoughts, I think 'deduce' is right," Kevin said.

"I know it is. So! Homework!"

"Professor," said Lavender, raising her hand, "just this once, could we keep listening?"

"You'll hear everything ten times over in the morning papers," said Llywarch, "it'd just be a waste of class time … so it's a good thing I want to hear it too."

Almost no-one could really concentrate, even though Disillusionment was one of those charms that students were always more enthusiastic about learning than their teachers were about teaching because of the extralegal applications. The battle for the airwaves continued throughout the morning, with Skeeter narrating as one member of the Wizengamot after another turned on Fudge. Even Malfoy denounced him, although halfway through his speech, Skeeter was spotted by security and ran for it. Eventually came reports that Fudge had been found and arrested, and the last sporadic static bursts died out.

"What do you think?" Ron asked, tapping his watermelon. "_Vitreo_." It stubbornly remained opaque.

"No way Fudge can stay in after this," Harry said. He tapped his, and it promptly turned white, which, he reasoned, was sort of like transparency. "Calling martial law to avoid bad publicity, there's no way the Wizengamot could let that go. … Is there?"

"I doubt it," said Hermione. She punctiliously made the correct wand motion; hers became slightly translucent. "Even Malfoy couldn't bribe his way out of something like that."

"He must have panicked," said Ron. "No way he could seriously hope to keep something like this quiet."

It was the only topic at lunch, and at dinner, special editions of the papers were released. Dumbledore hadn't returned all day; Professor McGonagall presided over the school, looking both worried and hopeful.

_The Daily Prophet_

_War_

_You-Know-Who Back_

_Fudge Arrested, Charges Pressed_

_.. ... ..._

_The Quibbler_

_Grunwaxer Sighted Near Falmouth_

_Can Dementors Secretly Be Cat Animagi?_

_Page 4_

_Fudge Accused of Grand Conspiracy_

_.. ... ..._

_Witch Weekly_

_Harry Potter: Hero of the Light_

_Neville Longbottom: Snapped Up Already?_

_Shapeless Black Robes To Make Comeback_

Ron's mouth set into a line when he saw Ginny's _Witch Weekly_. Neville took one glance at it, turned green, and ran for the hospital wing.

"I'd like to say in advance that I don't write these stories," Harry said quickly.

"Yeah, you're not a gooey enough writer," said Ginny, poring over the article. "You'd never call yourself liquorice, peppermint and cream." Harry sank his head into his hands. "I know. Really, I'd call you vanillin. I'm just astonished you're still single. Surely at least one girl would have asked you out by now."

Lavender and Parvati exchanged knowing glances, then turned to Hermione, who shook her head very slightly.

"It doesn't help that the _Prophet_ usually calls me a drunkard or a tragic case," Harry said.

"There's no such thing as bad publicity," Ginny argued. "Plenty of girls like bad boys. Romi's boyfriend is a leg breaker, one of the Sydale boys."

Harry thought back to the time before the Yule Ball, when a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin had asked him out, and he'd turned both down. "The thing is that most girls are only interested in dating the Boy Who Lived, not _me_. If someone who liked me for me asked me out, I'd consider it."

"It doesn't really help that you know about four girls," said Ron, "and they're Hermione, Ginny, Lavender and Parvati."

"Yeah," said Lavender, "or that Parvati told me what you were like at the Yule Ball."

"He wasn't that bad," Ron protested.

"You should talk," said Parvati, "my sister told me the first half of that night became her new Dementor memory."

There came a snerkling sound from Harry's left; when he looked over, Hermione was deeply enthralled by her keratobeans.

"Yes, well, moving away from my love life," Harry began.

"Or lack thereof," Parvati said brightly.

"Am I the only who's noticed the part where Lord Voldemort is alive again?" Harry said loudly, causing four people to inhale their dinners. "I swear, sometimes I can't believe … oh dear."

For a common barn owl had swooped in late and landed in front of Luna Lovegood, proffering a red envelope: a Howler. The Hall quickly went silent, and even Lavender turned off her wireless. Luna took and opened it, with a politely enquiring expression, and a familiar, awful, screeching voice rang out, a hundred times louder than in real life.

"_Hello, Luna. Sorry to falsely address this, but actually I only wanted a large audience, I really don't want this message censored and hidden away from the world, so I want EVERYONE in Hogwarts to hear it and tell your families. After all, you won't want them to be the only ones not to know. I've sent copies of this message to Hogsmeade, the Ministry and Diagon Alley._

"_I've been working to bring down the Ministry and make them PAY for their crimes, the MURDERS of EVERY SINGLE ONE of my childhood friends. It looks like Fudge is about to get his just desserts. I want you ALL to know that if he is replaced by one of his cronies, by ANYONE in a senior position at the Ministry, or by any of the bigoted filth at the so-called crown of society, I will become ANGRY. I will destroy EVERYTHING. I already have plans for wiping Saint Mungo's, Diagon Alley, and Hogwarts off the map. Do not, DO NOT push me."_

The Howler fell limp on the table, and there was a ringing silence. Luna, still looking quite untroubled, picked up the letter and scanned through it.

"It's signed MM," she said, and the Hall broke out into shouted arguments.

"We're screwed," said Dean.

"He's bluffing," said Seamus. "Get into Hogwarts? It's the safest place there is."

"He already got here to take the Acromantula colony," Hermione pointed out.

"Into the Forest, maybe," said Parvati, "but not into the fortress proper."

"He's almost killed me twice, at the Circus and Hogsmeade," Dean said. "I'm pretty sure he's not the bluffing type."

"We can't let him scare us," said Ron. "If people run and hide in their homes, he'll just start picking us off one or two at a time."

"Better that than ten or twenty at a time," Lavender said.

"If Ministry people won't take over, for fear of him destroying the hospital," Harry said, "who will? Someone like Malfoy Senior? I can't see him minding too much."

"There's still Dumbledore," Ron said. "He didn't want the job after the last war, but if it's the only way to keep that psycho from attacking Hogwarts, he'd do it, and he'll get the votes, too."

Harry and Hermione exchanged frowns. If the Marionette Man was working for Dumbledore, it was the perfect pretext for him to seize power.

"Fair point, actually," said Dean, "Dumbledore's about the only person I'd trust to deal with this. If he gets in, we might have a chance."

"What do you suppose he meant about murdered childhood friends?" Lavender asked.

"He's probably just completely insane," said Parvati. "I wonder if they can trace the owl?"

"Looks like a _Prophet_ owl," Dean said, "he probably hijacked one delivering a paper."

Professor McGonagall raised her wand and issued a series of bangs, and after a few, the Hall quieted down. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories. Teachers, to my office. Quietly, please."

.. ... ...

_The Daily Prophet_

_I Will Destroy Everything – Marionette Man_

_Stand Strong Against Terrorism – New Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour_

_State of Emergency: New Powers, Funding to DMLE, Curfew, ICW Observers_

"This is insane," said Ron, reading Hermione's paper over her shoulder.

"What, you don't think they should have given in?" said Seamus. "You can't just give people like him what they want. Do you seriously think he'd stop if they did?"

"Is inviting him to burn down Diagon Alley a better idea?" Parvati challenged. "Or us?"

"Hogwarts is stone, it won't burn," said Lavender.

"Thank you for cutting to the heart of the matter," Harry said. He read over Hermione's other shoulder while his classmates argued. _This man's actions threaten not only the fabric of Britain's wizarding society, but even her international obligations, in particular the Statute of Secrecy, which has been called into question after the destruction of the Ministry central office affected Muggle London, and Muggle geologists (rock watchers) denied the possibility of an earthquake causing the resulting damage. In light of this, I hereby authorise the Confederation to station Auror teams in high-risk locations, including the three named in yesterday's Howlers._ "We're getting guards?"

"We already have them," said Neville, pointing to the teachers' table. Dumbledore was still missing, but five witches and seven wizards had joined, all in banana yellow robes and white battle tricornes. The table had been stretched to accommodate them all.

Harry frowned. "You know, I'm getting really sick of always playing defence against him. I think it's past time we took the initiative for ourselves."

"How?" said Ron. "We have no idea where to find him. And even if you do run into him again, he duelled all three of us last time and didn't break a sweat."

"That's exactly it," said Harry, and lowered his voice so only Hermione and Ron could hear. "He's strong enough to fight off a few kids, but his only real defence against the DMLE's Hit Wizards is that no-one can get any information about him. But he keeps running into me. The next time it happens, I'm going to lift his name and home out of his head, with a spell he can't block. Hermione, tonight, I'm ignoring my homework–"

"Even Snape's?" Ron said. "It's due tomorrow."

"Really," said Hermione, "you've had ages to do that already."

"Most of my homework," Harry amended, "to spend the night on Legilimency. The next time he runs into and almost kills me, I'm going to be ready."

"Is it really secure for us to be talking about our proposed secret weapon," Hermione said, "at breakfast, where anyone could be eavesdropping?"

"Yes," said Ron. "Look, there's a four-foot gap around us. No-one's sat near us since it came out that Harry was a Parseltongue. Besides, who would listen in on us when they could be eating bacon?" He demonstrated by forking a few rashers onto his plate.

"Leaving the bacon to one side," said Harry impatiently.

"Right," said Ron. "What if he knows Occlumency?"

"What are the odds?" Hermione asked. "It is supposed to be rare. Professor Lupin hadn't even heard of it."

"His brain is broken," said Harry. "It follows that Occlumency, which is designed for someone with a normal brain, wouldn't work for him, unless he reverse-engineered it specifically for himself. That would be a ridiculous amount of work for a marginal gain."

"That makes sense," Hermione said. "I'll go with you; you can't learn Legilimency by yourself."

"Of course," said Ron, "you've already finished the week's homework. But now that you mention it, I've been thinking about it. You said Occlumency could also protect against truth potions and so on, which is why Malfoy and company got off after the last war. So probably all the Death Eaters know it … so would Legilimency help against them? I had the impression you wanted it as a weapon in the overall war, not just against one man who, realistically, you're unlikely to run into personally a fourth time. So unless you're just planning on gossiping or cheating on exams – not that I'd blame you…"

"Ron!" Hermione said, horrified. "That's the worst thing you've ever suggested using magic for."

"It'll help against Voldemort too," Harry said hastily. "When he grows up, Malfoy's going to try to become a Death Eater, and with his father's sponsorship, he's likely to make it. But Occlumency is _hard_ and Malfoy's useless; I'll bet he never pulls it off. He'll be an easy source of intel."

"And even if he does, or doesn't make the Death Eaters," Hermione added, "surely not all of them will master it. There only needs to be one weak link."

"And that's pretending everyone on Voldemort's – Ron, I've been saying the name for _four and a half years_, do you have to keep choking every time – that's pretending he only has Death Eaters. He also has low-ranking flunkies he bribes or bullies or whatever, and they sometimes know useful stuff."

"Besides, it's fascinating in its own right," Hermione finished. "And _absolutely no cheating_, or I'm telling. I mean it."

Ron stared at them both.

"Blimey," he said, a little mournfully, "that was like Fred and George."

"Don't look so lonely," Hermione said. "Harry and I have something we do together; you two have Divination."

"And you both have," Harry began. "Er."

Ron ignored this. "You care about your mind magic a lot more than anyone intelligent cares about Divination." He glanced fearfully over at Lavender, but luckily she hadn't overheard.

"Well, you'll have Quidditch again when Angelina graduates," Hermione said. "And we do take another half a dozen or so subjects, all of us together."

"Speaking of Quidditch," said Harry, "how's the team going these days?"

"Awful," said Ron. "I told Angelina that you could outfly Ginny even while stoned, and Ginny grabbed Fred's bat and threw it at me. Absolutely mental. And she still keeps disappearing with no explanation."

"I'm sure it's nothing incriminating," Harry said.

Ron gave him a perplexed look; Hermione shook her head despairingly.

"Well, that certainly doesn't warrant further investigation," said Ron.

"Of course not," Hermione said, "not if you're going to get Beaten for prying."

"Moving back to serious extra-curriculars," said Ron, accepting this logic, "now you've got me wanting to do something to fight the Marionette Man, too. Can you think of any way a giant rabbit could defeat someone like him?"

"I told you, Ron," said Hermione, closing her eyes, "it's called a kangaroo. It's Australian."

"Won't you be busy with Quidditch tonight, anyway?" Harry asked.

Hermione chuckled. "Trust you to memorise the team's training schedule … even when you're not on it. Do you also know the other Houses'?"

"Of course not," Harry lied defensively.

"There's barely any point having training," Ron said. "There's no way Slytherin won't win the tournament. Hufflepuff doesn't stand a chance without Cedric, and Ravenclaw's already forfeited their match against them."

"_What_?!" Harry exclaimed. "Why?"

"They don't want to be humiliated," said Ron, "they think they don't have a chance, and to be fair, they're probably right. Slytherin has those Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones; the last time they played, they were eighteen goals up when Chang got the Snitch by sheer luck."

"She might catch it a few goals earlier this time," Harry said. "Malfoy still can't fly to save himself."

"Not likely," said Ron. "She never came back after the break, didn't you hear?"

"She – she didn't?" Harry asked.

"No," said Ron. "Angelina heard about it from the other Ravenclaws. Apparently Chang's been really depressed – no surprise, what with Cedric, and then her best friend also dying in Hogsmeade – and she just left for Christmas and hasn't been back. I guess maybe she's taking a year off to get over it."

"Oh," said Harry. His stomach felt like a lump of ice. "Do you know if she's answering mail?"

"I didn't know you still liked her," Ron said. "Didn't she turn you down, at the Yule Ball?"

"It's nothing like that," said Harry, who had barely given her a second thought since their painful encounter at Diagon Alley. "Just, you know, she's probably feeling lonely, I'd hate to be stuck at home with no-one to talk to if either of you two died."

"To be fair, most homes are less wretched than yours," said Ron, and at that moment the bell for History of Magic rang.

_Voldemort, I think another girl's been taken._

_Details._

_Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw from the year above me. She left over Christmas, and isn't back._

_So she'd be about seventeen. They don't usually take them that young. Has anything happened that might stunt her magical growth?_

_Does depression count? Cedric was her boyfriend, and her best friend died in the Hogsmeade Fire._

_Yes; if she was a particularly emotional girl, it might be enough to stop it altogether. And if she wasn't going to continue to get stronger, they'd have no reason to wait. Confirm she's really missing and not answering your owl. Ask at least three Ravenclaws to do the same. The DMLE are on high alert, and I'm sorry to say that Scrimgeour's almost competent; if I investigate, they may find me, and I won't risk that for hearsay._

_Can we afford that delay?_

_Yes. The solstices and equinoxes are ideal times for the ritual, so she probably has another two and a half months. Just don't spend the entire time pacing like a caged lion, wearing yourself out._

.. ... ...

"Cho?" asked Su. "I haven't really spoken to her much this year. She's been kind of depressing to be around, to be honest, ever since Diggory died, and she only got worse after Marietta. I guess you're right, though; I'll ask how she's doing."

.. ... ...

"I assumed she wanted space," said Padma. "She'd always been really friendly, even with us lower years, but she's turned in on herself this year. I suppose it'd be the right thing to do to at least write her."

.. ... ...

"Who's Cho?" asked Luna.

"Cho Chang," said Harry. "She used to be your team's Seeker."

"Oh, did she?" asked Luna. "Was I supposed to have met her, then?"

"Never mind," said Harry.

.. ... ...

"Cho?" said Terry. "Yeah, the entire team wrote her a condolences note yesterday. She hasn't replied yet, but then, she's probably only just gotten it."

.. ... ...

After dinner that night, Harry and Hermione found a spare classroom, empty except Crookshanks, who had somehow arrived there first and who sat atop a desk, apparently keeping watch. Hermione sat beside him and scratched under his ears. Harry took their book, _The Telegnostic's Grimoire_, from his purse, and laid it down.

"As you know from the _Grimoire_," said Hermione, "the central spell of Legilimency is _legilimens_. It looks like it has a bit of a learning curve behind it. The problem is that under ideal circumstances it's apparently relatively easy with a little practice, but the difficulty ramps up drastically in practical situations to above N.E.W.T. level."

"And the ideal conditions," Harry said, trying to show he had in fact cracked the book rather than depend on Hermione for everything, "are if you have eye contact, you already know the target well, and they're thinking hard about what you want to read. It's also easier if you say the incantation and do the wand gesture, although those are supposedly easier to do without than for other spells."

"Right," said Hermione. "Also, it's best if the target is calm and the information is specific, crisp and factual. Skin contact can help too, although the effect is marginal. It's supposed to be slightly easier if the target knows Occlumency because it orders the mind, assuming of course they're not holding barriers against entry."

"Well, that's great," Harry said, "we have all of that."

Hermione lay her wand down and sat in the most comfortable leather chair. Crookshanks leapt lightly into her lap and curled up. Hermione shut her eyes, breathed deeply for a few seconds, began patting the cat, and opened them again. She pulled a die from her pouch and rolled it into one hand, not letting Harry see the result.

"Okay, I have a number between one and six," she said. "Try to find it with the spell."

Harry took her other hand, waved his wand, and gazed into her chocolate-brown eyes. "_Legilimens_."

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Crookshanks looked up with interest.

"I'm not getting anything except the lyrics to that Jitterbug song," Harry said. "And I think that's mainly because you're humming it."

"I've had it running through my head for days," Hermione admitted. "Well, that was naïvely optimistic anyway. I didn't think that book opened with four chapters of neuromancy for nothing."

They read through it, making notes and arguing about the differences between neuromancy, cognitomancy and psychomancy. Hermione tried it back on Harry and correctly said that the number looked like a two, three, five or six. They went back over chapter three and bashed out what exactly 'black bilious deficiency' had to do with the cerebellum. Harry tried it on Hermione again, and got nothing. Hermione explained the equations in chaper two and tried it again, then tried the spell on Harry, guessed four and then one, which was correct. Harry tried putting values into one of the equations and thought he indistinctly heard Hermione's voice.

"Either a four or a five," he said. "I hear the f sound, and the pits are in a square."

"Yes, a four," she said, revealing the die. "And for the record, that wasn't the kind of square I had in mind. I think it might be easier if you think the same thing in several ways, like thinking about its sound and shape and colour."

"I'm pretty sure numbers don't have colours," Harry said.

"Oh, right," said Hermione. "I'm mildly synesthetic. Pretend I didn't say that. Let me try it on you again." Harry rolled the die. "_Legilimens_!"

_Two. Two. A small even number._

"I'm not sure … it looks like two, three, five or six again."

"Keep going."

"_Legilimens_."

_Two. Small and even. Small. Even._

"Huh. It _feels_ like you're trying to say _seven_, but it can't be that."

"Go again."

"_Legilimens_."

_Two. The number that looks a little like a swan. Two. The second-smallest number._

"I can't do it. I don't know what it is."

"Come on, try again."

"_Legilimens_."

_Two. You have TWO eyes, looking into my TWO eyes, we have TWO hands clasped._

"Maybe we should read the book again."

"Not yet. You've almost got it, I know."

"I must be doing something wrong. I got it wrong last time."

"You almost got it right. Go on. Just once more."

"Alright. _Legilimens_."

_Two. Tutu, a ballerina's outfit. A pair, a couple. Number two, me and you._

"I … I'm pretty sure it's … two."


	16. Knuckling Down

"Hey, Harry," said Su, "I tried writing Cho Chang earlier. I never got a response, so I wrote her parents instead, asking if their daughter Cho was fine, and they said yes, as I should have known … because she's still at school."

"Er," said Harry. "She is?"

"Their daughter Cho is, yes," said Su. "By which I mean Cho Min, a fourth-year Hufflepuff. There's also a brother who I think is a first-year. After a confusing series of letters, I have the impression they don't want to talk about her."

"Ah," said Harry. "Is there some Chinese cultural stigma attached to emotional breakdowns?"

Su muttered what might have been 'Gryffindors'. "She's Korean. And yes, I suppose so. But it was odd, the way they phrased it. Almost as though they were confused themselves. I guess they just refused point-blank to talk with someone like me who they didn't know that well, because anyone would have thought they didn't even remember her."

"Well, I guess they're really upset," said Harry, making a mental note to ask Voldemort if there were any way of reversing Memory Charms.

.. ... ...

"_Multicorfors_," said Ron, and his watermelon turned blue. "Okay, I have that part down…"

"Yes, but Disillusionment is an adaptive, low-level polyphonic colour change," said Hermione, tapping her onion repeatedly. With each tap, another layer turned from white to the same brown as her desk. "It's much more sophisticated than simply changing colour." She picked up the onion in her other hand, and it turned a pale pink-brown to match her skin.

Ron muttered under his breath. "_Vitreo_." A patch of his melon, two inches across, turned brown.

"Hey, nice," said Harry. "Wait, that wasn't just a local colour change, was it?"

"_Vitreo_. _Vitreo_." With each tap, more of the brown spread. Finally it covered the entire melon. Ron moved it into his lap, and it turned black to match his robes.

"Looking good," said Professor Llywarch, giving Ron a wink. "Three points to Gryffindor."

.. ... ...

"ANGELINA SCORES!" shouted Lee Jordan.

Harry was watching a Gryffindor match for the first time, and not exactly enjoying it. Ginny had already fumbled a Snitch catch he knew he would have made, and Ron barely blocked one goal in three. On the other hand, Gryffindor had two weak players, whereas Hufflepuff had four: their Seeker, both Beaters, and one Chaser had barely accomplished anything all game.

"You know, compared with games with you in them, this is actually kind of lame," said Hermione, as Fred and George began hitting the Bludgers at the Hufflepuff Beaters, who broke formation and scattered.

"How does that work?" said Harry. "The Seeker's usually the least interesting player, because they spend all but the last five minutes not doing anything."

"You don't?" Hermione asked, horrified. "I thought you did things like – I don't know, breaking up opposing formations and – and blocking the other players. Things. You mean I've been imagining it?"

"No, we do," said Harry, impressed, "but I didn't think you'd noticed. I only got good enough to start doing that properly in third year."

"Well, I do pay attention," Hermione said modestly. Four Chasers in a row dropped the Quaffle, and it fell to the ground with a disappointing squelch. "There's that, and then there's the fact that they use faster Snitches when there are good Seekers, so the final duel is more impressive. And … I don't know, I just get the feeling that the other players were inspired when you were there, like they had to try just that little bit harder to prove they were worthy of being on the team."

The other Gryffindors did seem a little more despondent than usual, although they were winning narrowly: Ron was a much worse keeper than his opposite number, but the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters mostly kept the Quaffle up the other end of the pitch anyway. The Bludgers kept whizzing around like flies, missing people, and even Harry's attention began to wander. He looked around the stands. Two rows down, Neville was reading a book with one hand, using his wand to turn pages.

Harry and Hermione vaulted over the seats to sit next to him. "Feeling bored?" Hermione asked.

Neville looked up with a guilty start. "Er. Well, I've just been a little obsessed with this."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, turning the cover over to read the title: _The Pedant's Guide to Leonid Anatomy_. "Ooh, have you gotten anywhere?"

"Yeah," said Neville brightly. "For a few days, I kept giving myself a tail, but I've got that sorted out now."

"I never saw you with a tail," said Harry.

"I know, for some reason it was a rabbit's cottontail," said Neville. "No idea why. Anyway, I've stopped it, and I've gotten into this. It really just _clicks_, like you know, Harry, how you said flying was just this natural thing you could do; like it was what you were supposed to do? It's like that, like the lion-ness was always inside me, and it feels good, drawing it out."

"That's great to hear," said Harry.

"Not baaed at all," said Hermione. Harry poked her in the side of her stomach; she jumped.

Neville noticed nothing. "I've only learnt the left forepaw so far. It's pretty similar to a human hand, look." He scrunched up his face and concentrated, and his left hand morphed into a lion's paw. Harry and Hermione applauded; a moment later, Hufflepuff scored, and they quickly stopped amid a flurry of glares. Neville yanked his sleeve up to hide it.

"Do you know if any of the others have done anything yet?" Harry asked.

"No partial transformations," said Neville, "no. I think I've done more practice than any of them; they keep having to put it off for Quidditch training. I never thought not being able to fly for beans would turn out to be an advantage, but there you are."

"And speaking of practice," said Hermione.

.. ... ...

"_Legilimens_."

(three sinusoidal blue lines)

"It's waves," Harry said confidently.

Hermione beamed and shuffled the Zener cards. "Perfect. That's four in a row."

"Also, what are sinusoids?" he asked.

"Oh, you use them in Arithmancy," said Hermione. "And Muggle trigonometry, which is a good bit more advanced. Supposing you have a clock hand which starts at three o'clock, pointing directly right, and it rotates counter-clockwise by some angle, theta degrees – well, radians are better, Muggles use those because in calculus–"

"I see," said Harry. "But this is too basic, we won't be able to get the Marionette Man with easy stuff like this, let alone anyone from the Order, not without blowing our cover. What do we do next? Wandless, silent, non-contact, or more complex thoughts? Maybe we should stop trying to think the thoughts at each other?"

"I'd say concentrate on getting what we have perfect and faster, for now," said Hermione. "And trying to get thoughts from an uncooperative mind. Shall we try the exercise mentioned on the last page of chapter six?"

"Er," said Harry. Hermione obviously expected him to remember every single sentence, no matter how off-handed. "Sure. Wait, was that the one with the … er … no, I'm thinking of the one from chapter three, aren't I…"

Hermione put the deck of Zener cards into her bag. "_Accio_ cards. _Misceo_." A second deck, this one of standard playing cards, rose from her bag into her hand and shuffled itself. She dealt each of them five cards. "The exercise recommends a tarot deck and playing a game called Honducci, but I've never played that before and I know the rules to poker better."

"Er," said Harry, looking at his cards. "I've never played either."

Hermione waved her wand at the blackboard; a piece of chalk wrote 100 under each of their names, then deducted 1 from Harry and 2 from Hermione. "Good luck then. You're small blind."

.. ... ...

"I wrote Cho earlier," said Padma. "No response. It's been weeks, and I wrote a few letters. I guess she's really, really depressed."

"I guess so," said Harry.

"That means she'll be in the same year as the rest of us come September," Padma went on. "We'll make sure we're extra nice to her then. Ravenclaws stick together."

"What about that blonde girl who kept complaining about her House mates nicking her shoes?" Harry asked.

"Who?" asked Padma.

Harry tried desperately to think of her name, but he'd only been briefly introduced. "Er. I think she's in the year below you?"

Padma raised an eyebrow. "Can you name every single Gryffindor not in your year?"

"Point," Harry admitted. "So … is taking Ron to the Yule Ball _really_ your Dementor memory?"

.. ... ...

Harry tapped his toy dragon, and it flapped its wings jerkily. Ron's dragon's left wing was stuck, although the rest of it moved properly, meaning it could fly but was lopsided and promptly crashed into Seamus.

"You need to focus on the entire object you're trying to animate," Hermione said. Her dragon, of course, was merrily swooping around her head, even as she paid it almost no attention, while the entire rest of the class had cast their charms haphazardly at best. "You're getting distracted."

"Forgive me for not have perfect concentration in all my classes," said Ron, "what with the O.W.L. death march, Quidditch, and 'extra-curricular Transfiguration'."

"Have you actually made any progress on that?" Hermione asked with scepticism.

"Some," said Ron defensively. "Harry, I have no idea how you managed, because Quidditch plus lessons takes up almost all my time, and Angelina isn't half the slave driver Oliver was, so say the rest of the team."

"She isn't," said Harry, thinking back to his third year, when Oliver had tried to hold five practices every week, reasoning that Gryffindor's only chance to equalise with the Slytherin team and their brooms was to get three times as much practice. On top of that, Harry had talked Professor Lupin into teaching him the Patronus Charm, using up the sixth night of every week and draining him dry. "I suppose there's less slack this year, what with O.W.L.s."

"I'd just like to point out that even if I hadn't mastered a single finger of my Animagus form," Ron said, "which I have, with Quidditch, I'm still doing more work than the average student, and I'm still doing as well as anyone except Hermione in classes."

"Kevin told me Ravenclaw's a week ahead in most classes," said Hermione, a little wistfully.

"I never realised until we had a class with them," said Ron darkly, "but they're almost as annoying as the Slytherins, in their own know-it-all way."

.. ... ...

"_Legilimens_."

(a red with lots of pips, a hearts with only a few, the ace of spades, a black jack, the jack of diamonds)

"Raise eight," Harry said.

"Call," said Hermione. They revealed: the low hearts was actually a third jack, beating Harry's two pair. The enchanted chalk crossed out her total and added the pot, giving her 133. "You're going too fast, Harry."

"Well, we won't have time to ask the Marionette Man politely to give us a nice long gander, will we," said Harry.

"No, but we do have time to learn how to go quickly," said Hermione patiently, "which will work much better if we don't learn mistakes. Go slower! Your deal."

.. ... ...

"Well," said Professor Llywarch, "it looks like you can all Disillusion yourself. Good work, all; you're ahead of my Slytherin/Hufflepuff class."

"Ahead of the Hufflepuffs?" Kevin undertoned with mock surprise.

"Now," Llywarch went on, "against any real enemy, just Disillusioning yourself will buy you a few minutes at most, because there's a handy spell, the Revelation Charm, not part of the curriculum, which detects humans, and can get through most illusions … up to and including Invisibility Cloaks." Her eyes flicked to Harry for a fraction of a second. "Luckily, though, the spells race currently favours defence, and there's a counter. You have to get it up first, obviously – shut _up_, Li – but it's much easier to cast, and is resistant to cancellation magic. It's creatively called the Obscurement Charm. The incantation is homenum obscuro. So, altogether now – homenum obscuro!"

.. ... ...

Neville gathered with Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys in an empty classroom near Gryffindor Tower a few nights later.

"Since when are prefects supposed to encourage grey-area-legal Transfigurations?" Fred asked Hermione.

"Since she realised that any time spent turning yourselves into proboscids is time you're not spending turning first-years into chickens," Hermione replied.

"Fair point," said George. "So, youngest first?"

"Youngest first," Fred agreed.

"I object to this," said Ginny.

"Overruled," said George.

"Yeah," said Ron, as otherwise he would be first.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Okay, I have the paws down, I think, but let me warm up with a wand first." She took a few steadying breaths, drew her wand, and caressed it over her left hand. It melted and re-formed into a feline paw, but with spiky, coarse hair, unlike a domestic cat's, and longer, vicious claws. She ran the wand back, and it morphed back into a human hand. She switched the wand to her left and repeated the process. "Okay." She closed her eyes, took a few more breaths, then scrunched up her face, concentrated, and her hands warped into tentacled monstrosities. "Did it work?"

They all stared in horror.

"Well, did it?" Ginny asked, still not opening her eyes. "I can't look, I don't want to know."

"Oh god, oh god," Hermione said, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Kill it!" shouted Fred. "Kill it with fire!"

"Eeeee!"

"_Finite_! _Finite incantatem_!"

"Someone get the Sword of Gryffindor!"

"Today's experiment," Harry said, and pulled Hermione a few steps back.

.. ... ...

"Cho hasn't replied to any of us," said Terry. "A shame. She was a good Seeker. She almost saved that last game against Slytherin, d'you remember?"

Harry did. Ravenclaw was seventeen goals down when she caught the Snitch. "Yeah. Good thing, too; if she hadn't, Slytherin would have been another hundred and fifty points up in the league and would've won it."

"Wouldn't that have been tragic," said Terry.

"I know, right?" said Harry.

.. ... ...

Neville waved his wand over his kitten.

"Mao?" it asked, and turned into a pair of jewelled spectacles rather resembling Rita Skeeter's.

Professor McGonagall stared. "Longbottom – did – did you–?"

"I did it," Neville whispered. "I did it!"

Now the entire class stared. Only Hermione had got it first.

"Oh, well _done_," Professor McGonagall said, dry-throated. "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

.. ... ...

"_Legilimens_!"

(a very high black card, a red jack, the queen of diamonds, a red king, the ace of clubs)

"Fold," Harry said.

"Good play," said Hermione, revealing her straight. The chalk gave her the small pot, putting her on 108. "You only had three of a kind?"

Harry revealed. "I wasn't sure whether you had a nine or a ten. When you're not thinking about the number, it's too blurry to just read from your mental image of the card, and it's too blurry to read that accurately."

Hermione nodded. "I think there might be a problem with you having" she tapped his glasses "so we see images differently. Still, counting is a good start, if I only have video knowledge, no audio. You should probably try for semantic, though."

"I know," said Harry, "I'm working on it. Your deal."

.. ... ...

_The Daily Prophet_

_The Marionette Man: Bite or Bark?_

_Increased Security Spending Vindicated_

"_Constant Vigilance" – Bones_

.. ... ...

"_Homenum revelio_!"

Parvati and Lisa Turpin flickered with white light. Professor Llywarch tagged them easily with a Light Charm.

"Bother," said Parvati, as they went and joined the other 'dead' students.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean and Lavender were still 'alive', with six Ravenclaws. They dismissed their Disillusionments and Obscurations, and Professor Llywarch shut her eyes. They moved around and reapplied the charms.

"_Homenum revelio_!"

Llywarch's spell punched through Lavender's, Ron's, and three Ravenclaws' Obscurations. She tagged them with her light to prove she'd broken their charms, then the six 'survivors' moved and reapplied the charms.

"_Homenum revelio_!"

This broke Dean, Harry, Kevin and Anthony.

"_Homenum revelio_! _Homenum revelio_!_ Homenum revelio_!"

Hermione and Terry remained hidden.

"All right! Two perfect! Eleven points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw!"

.. ... ...

_Voldemort? Is it possible to break Memory Charms?_

_That depends on the exact charm and how well it was cast. When your average witch or wizard casts it, it's … akin to painting the memory over. It hides it, but it's still there, and if you're very precise, you can chip the metaphorical paint off and recover the memory. If it's cast by someone really good, it's more like dousing the memory with etching fluid. It's not coming back._

_So, if Dumbledore did the Chos…_

_They'll never remember her. Even if her friends tell her, even if you get her back. However, my guess is that this one wasn't Dumbles. He's a little busy now, playing for Minister._

_So, who took her?_

_Information on her has been hard to come by so I'm not at all certain, but the likeliest candidates are the Flamels, who I'm now almost positive are still alive. The good news is, they were never particularly skilled fighters. The bad news is that after half a millennium, even they are power players, and they know team tactics. We can't fight fight them on their own home turf._

_So what will we do?_

_Wait for my intel to mature. If it really is them, we'll need to kick it up a notch._

.. ... ...

"Ow!"

Harry's Fanged Geranium landed a bite on his arm, above his protective gloves.

Ron grabbed it by the head, hard enough to bruise, and pulled it off. Harry pressed against the wound and Healed it shut.

"Why are we wasting our time with glorified shrubberies when there are at least two psychopaths on the loose?" Harry asked, rubbing his elbow. Hermione pursed her lips.

"You don't complain about History and Astronomy," Ron pointed out. "Or Divination, or Care of Magical Creatures."

"At least those have the decency to not wound me," said Harry, then immediately regretted it: he missed Hagrid and his love of murderously dangerous creatures. For a moment, he almost would have liked to see a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Only for a moment, though.

"So why _are_ you here, then?" asked Ron. "Sprout won't mind if you skive off one or two lessons." Hermione's lips formed into a frown.

"Because I do still want to make Auror," Harry said. "I do plan on having a life after Voldemort and the Marionette Man are finished."

"Won't that also mean you'll need to get Outstanding in Potions, though?" Ron asked, doubtful.

"I've been getting E," Harry said. "We still have, what, another four months? That's easily enough time to pull up another grade."

"What?" Ron said, astonished. The Geranium almost landed another bite on him. "You're getting Exceeds Expectations in Potions? I thought Snape failed you as a matter of principle."

"That's Neville you're thinking of," Harry corrected. "He's been much nicer to me since Hermione and I figured out how to do Occlumency."

"I suppose he might respect you a little, now," said Ron.

"I expect respect would be hard to summon, toward a teenage boy whose mind you can read," Hermione said sagely.

.. ... ...

Ginny's hand shrank into a bristly cat's paw. The others nodded approval.

Ron raised his own hand, and it thinned to a lean kangaroo paw, then flicked back.

Neville drew his sleeve up to the shoulder. His hand grew into a larger, tawny paw. The palm extended, the elbow rose, it all thickened and grew sinewy muscle, and the entire limb turned into a lion's leg. He dropped to the floor to lean against it, then pushed back up as it reverted to a human arm. Then he did it with the other arm.

Fred and George concentrated in unison. Fred sprouted a trunk, George sail-like ears.

"Best you've ever looked," said Ron.

"Have you considered asking girls out like that?" asked Ginny. "Bet they'd sooner say yes."

"Experience says otherwise," said Fred.

"Yeah, what with Angelina almost breaking up with you," said George, "and almost chucking us off the team. Girl's got no sense of humour."

.. ... ...

"Your Strengthening Solutions should be almost complete," Snape called out. He passed over the Slytherins'; Malfoy's looked passable, Daphne's was mostly right, and Davis, who was unnoticed by almost everyone in the dungeon's darkest corner, was only a few steps from completion. The other seven were unholy messes. Snape tutted and turned to the Gryffindors. Hermione's was quite perfect and cooling, ready to decant; Harry, who after long and intense exposure was eerily in tune with her actions, was only a step behind, putting him second in the class. Ron was despairing over his mess, unaware that Malfoy had flicked a few grains of saltpetre in while Ron wasn't watching. Dean's looked alright, and Parvati's was wrong but not badly so. The others, not so much. "Unless, of course, it is a failed, toxic mess, in which case you would be well-advised to begin attempting to pinpoint where exactly you went wrong. A hint: consider your infancy," he added, looking at Neville.

"Huh," Ron said, "I guess you really have improved at this."

"Hermione's been rubbing off on me," Harry said.

"Su Li said the same thing," said Ron. Hermione stuck out her tongue.

.. ... ...

"_Homenum revelio_! _Homenum revelio_, _homenum revelio_!"

Neville and Mandy Brocklehurst the anaemic Ravenclaw fizzled into view, but the rest of the class remained hidden.

"Excelling," Professor Llywarch said, clapping her hands together. "Twenty-six more points to each House. I'll have a practical test for both charms and the lesser illusions on Friday, and then we move on to our last unit, the actual Defence part of the subject."

"If this doesn't count as Defence," said Kevin, "then what have we been doing all year?"

"Terrified Cringing From the Dark Arts," Professor Llywarch said promptly. "But the aneurysm for that doesn't roll off the tongue so well, and I didn't want to change the stationery."

.. ... ...

"_Legilimens_."

(two of hearts, red four, four of spades, six diamonds, red seven)

"Raise twelve," said Harry. "You can't get anything."

"I almost have a straight," said Hermione wistfully.

"No, you don't," said Harry, "because I'm holding three of the fives."

"Oh," said Hermione. "_Legilimens_. So you are. Well played. I fold."

The bewitched chalk awarded Harry the pot, putting him up to 101 chips.

"I think we both have this down," said Hermione.

"Time to move on?" said Harry.

"I'd say so. Do you remember the part about reified abstrata?" Hermione asked.

"Trying to turn emotional knowledge into a concrete, semantic sentence?" asked Harry.

Hermione smiled. Usually she asked such questions in order to segue into explanations of them; having her audience know _in advance_ was a welcome change.

"Exactly," she said. "It's key to reading thoughts when the target thinks about them significantly differently to how the user does."

"Which will be pretty important if the Marionette Man is completely insane," siad Harry.

Hermione nodded. "Do you remember the chapter?"

"I've been using it for the past three sessions," Harry admitted. "You really like queens, aces and sixes. Eights and kings irritate you, tens are boring, threes are smarmy, and you think twos and fours are pretty."

"They are, though," said Hermione. "They're so elegant. Two to the power of four equals four to the power of two; what's not to like?"

"Which, together with a rough count, is enough to pick a card, no matter how blurry," said Harry.

"Interesting tactic," said Hermione. "I wonder if synesthesia makes me easier to read. Well, I think you should try it on me first."

"Despite you probably knowing the chapter word for word?" Harry asked.

"What do you mean, probably?" Hermione asked. "And yeah … because your emotions … I'm not sure I want to know them just yet."

"You don't?" Harry asked. "No, let me rephrase that. You'd be more comfortable with me knowing yours than vice versa?"

Hermione turned pink. "Well. I suppose, logically, not really … but … well…"

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Harry asked.

"You mean, aside from my most secret dreams and desires?" Hermione asked. "Not especially. But you … well, you were raised by the Dursleys. I'm not sure I want to see what that did … what that was like for you. You know how sometimes you don't want to pull a bandage off because you know the wound will look absolutely disgusting?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Not that I think you're disgusting, far from it! But, well, I imagine it must have made you miserable, and I don't think I could – I don't want to see that."

"You realise you'll have to do it sooner or later," Harry said, "if you want to get this."

"Yes," said Hermione, "but if you go first, then I'll know that you know something I don't, and that'll drive me _insane_. Seeing whatever psychic scars you might have will be _nothing_ compared with that."

Harry considered this.

"That's either really smart, or really stupid," he said.

"I'm hoping it's the first one," Hermione said.

"Fair enough," Harry said.

"So, something which would be significantly different for me would be my family," Hermione went on. "I have an emotional connection to them, which you shouldn't. So … try to find out what you can about my sister. I'll try to be open this first time."

They sat down, held hands and made eye contact.

"_Legilimens_."

Images, sounds, smells, emotions and snatches of thought rushed through Harry's mind. It was all he could do to sort them apart, like trying to read a difficult textbook while riding a roller coaster that kept changing direction.

(skinny little girl)

(much smaller, so delicate) (five years younger) (?)

(love her) (cinnamon smell)

(sibling rivalry) (time she poked me in the eye) (time Crookshanks scratched her) (love her)

(Tess) (Theresa Florence Granger)

(argument about food) (love her) (time we first ate coconut milk) (those awful cookies mum tried to bake)

(hair like mine but lighter) (so cute) (!) (tomboy: black dye, cut short)

(loves drawing) (all those pictures)

(sunbathing in France)

(not showing you _that_ part. sorry)

(hotel in Dijon) (her nightmare about scissor-hands)

This felt like a tangent, and Harry tried to push it back on topic, but it was so much easier to be washed along by the current of Hermione's thoughts.

(curling up with her)

(body contact is nice)

(like with dancing with Harry. mm)

(love him)

The spell fizzled and they fell apart, gasping.

"Whoa," said Harry at length. "That was … intense."

Hermione glanced at him and quickly broke eye contact. "Did you … see everything?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah … I think I got it all."

"I thought so," Hermione told the wall behind him.

There was a long pause.

"So, er," Harry said. "Should we. Er." He wasn't sure whether to suggest they talk or pretend nothing had happened.

"It isn't … it doesn't _mean_ anything," Hermione said, as much to herself as to him. "It's just hormones. You take the athlete's high from dancing, the adrenaline and endorphins and oxytocin, and the feeling of being held by someone warm and strong, and the Pavlovian conditioning of knowing it's from _you_; of course it's going to mess with my emotions."

Harry opened his mouth, thought better, and shut it again.

"And anyway," Hermione went on, "we're already doing the entire spying thing, and as if that weren't enough, we're also trying to learn Legilimency, and we keep having to fight for our lives, _and_ I have prefect duties, and, most importantly of all, we have our O.W.L.s in less than four months. We don't have _time_ to do anything … else."

At the word 'time', Harry thought back to when they'd teamed up to rescue Buckbeak and Sirius. He'd enjoyed that much more than the Yule Ball, for all that said.

"And what even do people _do_, when they're dating?" Hermione continued. "I have no idea. Do you? I know Terry took Padma to that _dreadful_ coffee shop in Hogsmeade, but it's full of pink, and anyway it burnt to the ground. I mean, we already talk and study and so on together. What else are you supposed to do, other than snog?"

Harry veered his gaze away from hers by ninety degrees. Hermione noticed. After all, if Harry were in tune with her movements, that familiarity went both ways.

"Not that I wouldn't–" she began, before her mind caught up to her mouth. "You know what, I should really stop talking now. Aren't you going to say anything?"

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd think of something that would make things less awkward, and I wouldn't have to," said Harry.

"Well," said Hermione, "I guess I blew that."

"Sort of," Harry agreed. "Er. Should we stop dancing, if you're worried it's stopping you from thinking clearly?"

"Um," said Hermione. "Well, all of that aside, it _is_ still good exercise."

"_That's_ the rationalisation you're going with?" Harry asked.

"You would've seen through anything I said," Hermione pointed out. "In retrospect, I really should have seen this coming before talking you into practising mind reading magic on me."

"Yeah," said Harry.

_Harry, do you have a moment now?_

_Dear god yes._ "It's Voldemort," he said aloud, "he says it's urgent."

_I've confirmed Cho Chang's location. She's being held by the Flamels in their castle, near Leeds. I'll think you coordinates and partial schematics later._

_Er, do I actually need to know precisely which part of the middle of nowhere she and they are?_

_I imagine you'll have trouble finding it otherwise._

_'I'? You have an army of Death Eaters and Dark Creatures, who aren't pretending to be hapless students, and who won't be noticed if they sneak off Hogwarts grounds._

_There are a few points of interest here. One: the castle is bewitched to phase out of existence every night. Therefore, the only possibility is a daytime raid. Two: the DMLE are still buzzing around like angry hornets. My forces can't risk moving in daylight, for fear they'll track us. Three: the Flamels most certainly have defensive enchantments which will lock their castle down if they detect a raiding party. A lone, magically immature individual, such as a fifteen-year-old, has a good chance of going undetected. Four: we can't defeat them in pitched battle, so the rescuer would need to be someone fast who could evade them, such as, for instance, the youngest Seeker in a century, riding an international-standard racing broom._

_And five, you don't think she's worth risking your core troops over._

_I don't even think she's worth risking _you_ over. I'm only telling you because if I didn't, you'd begin to suspect I'd made everything about sacrifices up and swap sides again._

A gambit occurred to Harry. _Begin? I discussed that possibility with Hermione when Hogsmeade burnt. You said they prefer to sacrifice eighteen-year-olds, but you said Dumbledore took your Death Eaters, who are in their forties at least. You didn't think we'd notice that?_

_And in spite of that, you still went to the Ministry?_

_We thought that if you were lying to secure our allegiance, we'd do the most damage to you as triple agents. So we played along and gathered as much information about you as possible. Death Eaters' names, locations of hideouts, favourite tactics. And we left notes detailing everything we knew, in case you double-crossed us._

_Oh?_

_Of course, the evidence was still in your favour. Dumbledore is too powerful to explain away. Your Death Eaters are stronger than the average witch or wizard; that might be enough to make them worthwhile sacrifices anyway. Still, we thought it'd be worth playing both sides until we got proof. I suppose this isn't quite rock-solid proof, after all you might have abducted Cho yourself and set the castle up to fool me, but that's more effort than I think you can really put into this with the DMLE after your blood. More realistically, it might just be a trap, but honestly, if you meant to capture me, you just would have raised Anti-Disapparition wards around the manor on Boxing Day._

_I see I've underestimated you._

_Don't. Also, please stop trying to flatter me._

_But it works so well._

"He's found Cho," Harry told Hermione. "And I'm the rescue mission. Also, if he asks, we've suspected he made the sacrifices up since Hogsmeade."

"… Right," said Hermione. "Why?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't," said Harry, "but I wanted to see what he'd say if he thought we thought he did."

Hermione blinked. "Clearly. What do you mean, you're the rescue mission?"

"I mean that I need to fly, and I won't be able to fit you, myself, and Cho on my Firebolt," said Harry. "And unless you've been practising even after flying lessons ended at the end of first year and you have a spare Firebolt, you won't be able to keep up with me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"But when will we have the opportunity?" Harry went on. "It has to be by daylight, so we need something that'll distract the entire castle for a few hours."

"Since you're _clearly_ about to run half-cocked into certain death yet _again_," Hermione said, "I may have a few suggestions."


	17. Berserk

_AN: 's description of a T rating is "suitable for teens … with some violence…" It doesn't give examples or otherwise set an upper limit to how violent it can be before you need to bump it up to an M (in fact M is for having _references_ to some violence; go figure). Therefore I can probably get away with leaving this as T, but fair warning: brace yourself._

"You're not staying to watch the match?" Ron asked at breakfast, a few weeks later.

"Well, it'll be pretty predictable, won't it?" said Harry. "Slytherin will grind Hufflepuff to paste. Malfoy will catch the Snitch because he has the better broom and Summerby can't fly."

"I'm not disputing that," said Ron, "but I thought you really liked Quidditch, watching or playing. And don't you want to see the defeat of the only side to beat you in third year?"

"I'd love that," said Harry. "If ever you find a charm that can permanently destroy Dementors rather than just repelling them, let me know."

"Do you really want to watch Slytherin win?" Hermione asked Ron.

"No," said Ron, "I'm only going for the hot dogs. Fred and George are selling them today, they've set up a stand."

"You're not seriously thinking of eating anything they've touched, let alone prepared?" Harry asked. "Don't you remember the Wheezes?"

"I do, but the Hufflepuffs don't," said Ron. "Half the stadium will be jinxed."

"Well," said Hermione, "at any rate, Legilimency is fascinating."

"More so than watching Slytherin outfly Hufflepuff, anyway," Harry said.

"You've changed," said Ron.

At that moment, Hedwig swooped down to Harry. He'd been expecting her. She had a package with a letter.

_Dearest Harry,_

_Here's another present for you! I'm so glad you liked the brownies so much!_

_This is a batch of my favourite lip balm! Put it on twice a day, and your lips will be as silky softy sweety smooth as mine! Plus it tastes like plum jam! This is enough for the rest of the year if you don't go overboard – but I won't mind making you another batch if you do! In fact I think I'd prefer that! Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

_Love from,_

_Your Secret Admirer!_

A torrent of pink glitter fell out into Harry's lap; Hermione turned splotchy red and began sneezing. Lavender and Parvati, three seats down, burst into giggles. _You enjoy this far too much. __Do you really have to use the damn glitter __every damn time__?_

_When you manage to get Dumbledore to hire a Death Eater __who __go__es__ undetected all year – __repeatedly__ – then, and __only then__, may you tell me what is and isn't necessary for a disguise._

Ron brushed some glitter off his sleeve, horrified. "Why do you keep _encouraging_ her, whoever she is?" he asked. "I swear, I'd rather you dated a Slytherin." He paused. "She _isn't_ a Slytherin, is she?"

"_Evanesco glitter_," said Hermione. "As if anyone but a Hufflepuff could be so saccharine."

Harry opened the package. It contained a black glass jar of viscous liquid, with "Harry's Lip Balm!" written on one side in fluorescent pink. Hearts, flowers, rainbows, and a unicorn were drawn around it. Harry put it and the note into his purse.

"Sweet Merlin," said Ron, staring at Harry as though he'd gone mad.

"Yes, I do draw the line here," Harry said. "I'll throw it out later."

Ron eyed him suspiciously.

"I swear!" Harry said, throwing up his arms.

Ron made an 'I'm watching you' gesture and headed out to the pitch, along with most of Slytherin and a few masochistic Huflepuffs. Harry and Hermione waved him off before climbing to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

"Are you sure you want to come?" Harry asked. "It'll be dangerous, especially for you, and I already have our mutual friend giving advice."

"Let you go alone?" she asked. "Don't be thick, Harry."

She took out her bag, which she'd emptied the night before, and climbed in. Harry transferred his Invisibility Cloak from his purse to the bag, put the bag around his neck, under his robes, put his hand over his purse, and said "Up". His Firebolt jumped into hand. "_Vitreo_. _Homenum obscuro_." And he kicked off.

Immediately, there was a _shriek_.

Harry glanced over his shoulder: a black cloud was issuing from the Astronomy Tower. Presumably it was an anti-Death Eater security measure; he ignored it and accelerated away.

_Voldemort? I'm away._

_Right on schedule. I'm in the war room. Remember, absolutely silent at all times._

_Do you have the Apparition destination?_

A heavily-annotated map of Britain coalesced in Harry's mind. There was a hazy red circle in Scotland labelled _Hogwarts – somewhere here? Unplottable_, and, well to the south, a black cross labelled _SC4_, which the legend said was _Flamels__(?)_.

_Wait, you can think me images as well as text?_

_If that enchanted diary could – a specifically text-only medium – why wouldn't I be able to think images, given minds natively use them? I've just never needed to, before. I could also do emotions and smells, if I wanted to._

_Please don't._ Harry considered the map. _Okay, I've never Apparated this far before but–_

POP

He appeared twenty feet above a reservoir. Behind him was Muggle Leeds, where the morning rush hour was just beginning. In other directions were woods and light pasture. Directly ahead was a squat black stone building, ringed by three high towers.

_And here it is._

_Be careful, for pity's sake. When I told you I had only partial knowledge of its defences, I meant it. Remember, no activated magic. There are bound to be detectors. Make sure you use Occlumency to maintain a false memory of coming alone, so that if one of you is caught, the other might have a chance to get away and/or mount a foolhardy rescue attempt. And most of all, silence._

Harry veered right and ascended so he could approach with the sun at his back, hopefully blinding any watchers. The keep was only two storeys high, but the towers were seven, eleven, and thirteen respectively. Their conical roofs were crowned by gargoyles and other statues.

_You never found out where she's kept, did you?_

_No. I don't know the Flamels, but the top of the second-tallest tower is probably the best place to start. The traditional place would be atop the tallest tower, but you want that to be your last resort._

Harry cruised down to the top of the tower. It had windows every few yards, wide enough for him to drift through. He dismounted as quietly as possible and stowed his broom in his purse. _Why?_

_It has thirteen floors, a powerful arcane number, as is seven. I'm guessing those two are where the ritual is performed and maybe a lab, although I don't know which is which. In any case, it's probably layered with extra security, and the Flamels themselves may be there._

Harry took Hermione's bag from his neck and patted it twice. There was a pause and an increase in weight as an invisible Hermione crawled out and climbed down him to the floor. She took his hand and squeezed. Having one person Disillusioned rather than fully invisible was less secure, but they could move much more quickly and quietly.

The room seemed to be a lookout. The windows gave a good view of the surrounding countryside. The décor was more of the dark stone and brutally utilitarian. In the middle of the room was bench; to one side were narrow stairs leading down. More statues were scattered throughout the room. These looked like medieval warriors, armed with swords, staves and wands. Harry thought they were completely still, until one blinked.

_These are all deadly, right?_

_Everything is deadly. This should go without saying._

_Apparently they're not very perceptive. They could have spotted me._

_Animations usually don't have very good eyesight. That won't be true of everything in there, and don't push your luck even now. Move slowly and smoothly. They probably still have excellent ears._

Harry pulled Hermione toward the stairs and they crept downward, single file. The next room had eight tiles by eight and what must have been chessmen, carved into fantastic creatures. Apparently the game played itself; while they watched, a white manticore moved. It padded softly down a row like a rook, lunged on a black dwarf, and, with a boom, tore it in half. Hermione pulled Harry down the stairs again.

The next room was odd. Harry had an impression of a chivalrous court: there were six statues, wearing bright jester outfits. More clothes were piled high about the floor. The statues had disproportionately long limbs and were more energetic than the others, looking around with apparent curiosity. They stared for a moment, but Cho wasn't there unless she was hidden under the clothing, so they continued.

The next floor had nothing but a glass cube a yard across. In its midst was what looked like a four-legged spider, sporadically tapping against its prison. After this was one filled with bright blue bees, and then one with a statue of a troll and two self-playing pianos. Soon, they reached the base of the tower.

_No sign of Cho. We're at the door which I think leads into the keep, if your maps are right._

_Inconvenient. The next best location would be the cellars._

_Didn't you say you thought she'd be at the top of the tallest tower?_

_Yes, but that's also where I think the heaviest security is likely to be._

Harry took a full twenty seconds to turn the door knob, then eased it open. He and Hermione stole through and shut it without a sound.

The keep was much better-decorated than the tower. Inside, it was painted a warm cream, and had thick red carpet through the middle of a long hall. There were paintings on either wall, their inhabitants dozing or playing cards, and nude statues on plinths. Fuelless flames danced overhead, supplementing the windows, which looked much wider from the inside than they had from without.

The carpet was thick enough for their shoes to sink into, which was reassuring for its silence, until Hermione pulled Harry up short. She took his hand in both of hers and pulled the index finger to point to the slowly-fading footprints they had left in the carpet. They moved along the side of the hall after that, where the carpet was thinner and they didn't leave visible imprints.

The paintings turned to watch when they passed, as though vaguely aware of intruders but never quite seeing them. Strange glyphs were drawn onto the roof, and twinkled as they passed under.

_You said the cellar was the fourth door on the right, didn't you?_

_Yes. If the door's locked, DON'T try to pick it. No-one guards anything as thoroughly as a Frenchman guards his wine._

Hermione's hand was slick with sweat by the time they made it to the door. Harry tested it with the back of his hand first.

Nothing happened.

Taking twenty seconds again, he twisted the knob until the latch fell. It wasn't locked. Hermione squeezed his hand, paused, and squeezed, their signal for 'wait here'. He squeezed twice to acknowledge, opened the door just wide enough for her to slip through, and pulled it shut again.

On the opposite wall was a painting of seven Crups playing poker. One looked up. "Hello," he said softly with a mild German accent, "did you just see the cellar door open?"

"Ruh," barked the one on his left.

"Maybe the latch is broken," mused the first. "We should tell the Master."

"Only if you want to fold," said the Crup opposite. "Jack high, I suppose?"

"No, I'm guessing he has four aces again," said another, with a white stripe around its muzzle. "All them the ace of spades."

"Ruh!" said the one on the left again.

Harry felt a pressure on the door. He thrust it open, felt the rush of air from Hermione's motion, and pulled it shut. The latch caught with a small but audible click. The Crups' ears all pricked up.

"Actually, you're right," said the one with the white stripe. It threw its cards in. "I'll let him know."

Hermione found Harry's hand again, squeezed and tapped a finger, meaning negative. He pulled her along a few yards, out of the way of the door.

_Hermione didn't find her. Shall I go for the tallest tower now?_

_Yes. If you don't find her there, pull out. There's no guarantee my intel is perfect._

At that moment, Harry heard footsteps. Hermione pushed him against the wall and draped the Cloak over him too, hiding even the slight distortion of Disillusionment, a moment before Nicholas Flamel walked into view. They held their breaths as he walked over and examined the door, ten feet from where they stood.

"It fell open by itself," reported the German Crup. "Twice. We heard the latch click shut the second time."

"That's odd," said Flamel, with a trace of a French accent. He was slim and quite short, five foot four, and dressed in plain black robes. He had a brown ponytail and looked quite unremarkable, but there was no doubt it was him. "Exactly like … if someone invisible went in, and then out."

Harry and Hermione went rigid.

"_Finite vitreo_," Flamel said, waggling his fingers; they sparkled, and Harry felt a warmth down his head, of his Disillusionment failing. "_Accio invisibility cloak_."

There was a moment of sheer terror, but nothing happened. The Cloak didn't so much as twitch.

"_Homenum revelio_."

There was silence.

"Do you see anyone?" asked the German Crup.

"No," said Flamel. "Nothing. I'd better check the wards for tampering, though." He then turned to the door, opened and shut it, then ran his fingertips over it. The door morphed into a wall, then back into a door, this one with gilt panelling. "And, fixed. Good work, Siegfried."

The German Crup wagged its bifurcated tail, and went back to its poker game. Flamel turned and walked down the hall and left through another door.

Harry and Hermione silently let out long breaths, took half a minute to regain their composures, and continued down the hall.

_Voldemort, can you think of any reason why my Invisibility Cloak might resist being Summoned?_

_Maybe if Dumbledore put an anti-Summoning Enchantment on it? Although I doubt that; it would reduce its lifespan drastically, to only a few years, I expect. Now probably isn't the best time to worry about it or experiment._

_Probably._

_Are you in the tower yet?_

_No. There's been a slight delay, and my Disillusionment has expired. The tower door is at the far end of the hall, on the right, isn't it?_

_No, that's the shortest tower. The tallest one is three doors along from the cellar and on the left._

Harry could smell Hermione sweating by now, and she was beginning to pant audibly. He stopped her and slipped his hand over her mouth. They stood still for a moment, then she pulled his hand away and squeezed it twice.

There was a painting directly opposite the tower door, this one of a pair of nuns in fishnet stockings. They were deep in discussion in French and paid no attention as Harry ever-so-slowly opened the door, whisked through, and shut it.

The tallest tower was made of the same black stone as the medium one, and had the same spiral staircase design. These stairs were a little wider, allowing Harry and Hermione to walk side by side. Every so often, there were glyphs drawn onto the walls, glowing deep blue.

_There's a rune here. It looks like an eye: an oval with two concentric circles and some lines like eyelashes._

_Break eye contact, now. Blink._

Harry blinked twice and looked away, then felt Hermione's hand patting his face. He took it and squeezed twice. Apparently she recognised the rune.

_It's a Putrefaction Glyph. If you maintain eye contact with it for more than a few seconds, it starts rotting your eyes. Not quite as emphatic as a Basilisk, but still nasty. Invisibility Cloaks don't stop the effect._

Harry and Hermione edged up past it and onto the first landing. This walls, floor and ceiling were drawn over with more arcane symbols, glowing with the same indigo light. Taut streamers of the same hue were connected between surfaces, forming a three-dimensional rune lattice.

_Whoa. Any idea what this does?_ Harry thought the image at Voldemort.

_Three-dee runes? I've never heard of that before. I suppose anyone would invent a new field of magic if they'd seen half a millennium._

Hermione drummed her fingers against Harry's hand, their signal for 'hurry up'. They continued up the stairs. The next room had a large, well-equipped potions lab with four cauldrons, one over a low flame and three sitting. Harry could smell caramel and rotting meat.

The next floor was filled with sparkling hexagonal crystals of every colour, ringing like wind chimes. The one after had eight stone blocks lying on operating tables, in various stages of being sculpted into more statues. The sixth floor was Extended, and seemed to be in use as a greenhouse; there were rows of magical plants stretching into the distance. It was hot and humid, and the light was red; the plants all looked black under it.

_This room is huge_, Harry thought, trying to send an image, but the heat and strange light made his head hurt. _It could take us a while to look through here._

_The Flamels aren't expecting a rescue. They wouldn't hide a prisoner in there. Keep going._

The next floor contained an open door to a room which looked like a ward in the hospital wing. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, brightly lit by more fuelless flames and a wide window, too high to climb through. Two clean white beds sat on either end of the room. It was rectangular, unlike the others of the tower. A cat-shaped clock ticked high on the wall. One bed was empty; in the other was Cho, asleep. Harry and Hermione walked over and found a pulse, slow and strong.

_She's asleep. I think it's magical._

_Is there a watcher?_

_Yes, a cat clock._

_Cats have good motion vision and hearing. Not ideal._

_I'm not giving up now._

_If it sees her vanish, it will trigger a lockdown. And if it's fixed watching the girl, you won't be able to bait and switch like we planned._

_I'll deal with, okay?_

Hermione pushed him against the wall under the clock, below its field of vision, and pulled up her sleeve of the Cloak, revealing her hand, which held a long, glossy black hair. Harry squeezed her other hand twice, and searched through his purse until he found his 'lip balm'. Silently, he unscrewed the lid, then upended it, low to the ground so it wouldn't splatter when it hit.

The jar was Undetectably Extended, of course, and a hundred and ten pounds of gelatinous goop flowed out: Harry's estimate of Cho's body weight. Hermione dropped the hair in, and they stepped back, as the final ingredient activated the Body Double Potion. The goo shivered and writhed for long minutes, before coalescing into the unmoving body of Cho Chang.

_Uh-oh. We may not have thought this through._

_What is it now?_

_The Double has no clothes._

… _Of course not. Usually you prepare the body ahead of time and it isn't an issue._

_Hang on, Hermione has an idea._

She led him over to the bed and leant over Cho. Cho's arms were above the sheets, showing she was dressed in standard black robes. Hermione leant forward and, for some reason Harry couldn't fathom, slid her hand under the blanket up to the elbow, taking a full minute to slide it in and again to withdraw it. She led him back to the safe wall under the clock and shrugged the Cloak off. He pulled the hood back to mouth 'what?' to her.

She slipped her robes off her own shoulder, revealing a bra strap, touched it, and shook her head.

Harry gave her a perplexed look.

She pointed at Cho, then put a hand over her own head, indicating height.

Harry stared.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then shrugged off her robe.

Harry stared harder.

Hermione stuck out her tongue, then pointed at the Double. Harry lifted it by the armpits so Hermione could dress it in her robe. This done, Hermione lay it on its back under the clock, one hand over its chest in a subdued death pose.

Harry gave Hermione an enquiring look. She shrugged, then pointed at Cho and made some gestures. She took her bag off and held it up.

He mouthed 'you're insane'.

She shrugged again. Harry shook his head, pulled his Firebolt out of his purse, and placed both on the floor, timing it so the moment of contact exactly coincided with the cat clock's ticking.

_Hey, Voldemort. Is it possible that an incorrectly-brewed sleeping potion would lead to the drinker having a heart attack which woke them and led to their death a few seconds later?_

_Possible, I suppose, but not something you want to count on. Wait, you _don't_ mean–_

Under the Cloak, Harry slunk over to the real Cho. He slipped a hand behind either shoulder, then yanked her upright.

"Nyaaaan!" cried the cat clock, ringing like a fire alarm bell. It turned a somersault, then galloped in a circle and ran out of the room. Iron bars slammed down over the window and the door swung shut with the click of a lock.

Hermione helped Harry pull Cho out of the bed and into the bag, then climbed in herself. Harry put the bag around his neck, under the Cloak, hopped onto his Firebolt, and floated up to the ceiling. Moments later, Flamel opened the door. The cat was on the wall beside him, chirruping away, and yowled when it saw the Double.

Flamel's eyes narrowed, and he made a swiping motion. A web of shimmering orange light shot around the room at waist height, bounced off all the walls, and re-gathered in Flamel's hand. His eyes flicked upward, and Harry had only a split second to dive and evade, holding the hood of his Cloak down with one hand, before Flamel cast the spell at the roof.

"And this just happened?" he asked.

"Nya nyaan," said the clock.

Harry rose to the ceiling again as Flamel walked over to Cho and felt for a pulse.

"Tell Peri to meet me downstairs," he ordered.

"Nyaa," said the cat, and scampered off.

Flamel gestured, and the Double floated ahead of him, downstairs. At the threshold, he waved at the window, and the bars retracted. Harry counted to sixty before inching through the window to freedom.

The sun was painfully bright after the time indoors, and the wind was high, threatening to dislodge his Cloak even with him holding it firmly in place. He dived to ground level where it was calmer and glided a few hundred yards from the castle, then Disapparated.

_We're clear! Yes!_

_You pulled it off? Does Flamel know?_

_Not unless he thinks a potions snafu is less likely than intruders his specialised anti-invisibility magic can't find. I'd better get back to Hogwarts; we don't want to be gone for any longer than necessary._

_Take Cho to Hogwarts? You're not serious._

_Why not? … Oh, I see. Dumbledore will ask where I found her. Well, I could just dump her in the Great Hall and let some second-year stumble across her._

_And then?_

_She'll be taken to the hospital wing … ah. And then Dumbledore will gift-wrap her and hand her straight back._

_Have a cookie. Fortunately, I have the resources to protect her for now._

_You'd take her in?_

_Yes, grudgingly. I'm an insurgent, not a daycare, but do you have a better idea?_

_Where should I drop her off, then?_

_I have someone waiting in the Shrieking Shack._

_Isn't it boarded up?_

… _THAT'S the limit of your B&E skills? Nailed-on planks of wood?_

_Shut up._

Harry re-applied the Disillusionment Charm, Apparated to Hogsmeade, and touched down outside the Shack. Hermione's hand popped out of her bag and patted his chest twice.

"We're clear, but stay in there for a moment more," he told her. She gave a thumbs up, and the hand withdrew.

He walked up to the front door and knocked. It was covered by thick wooden planks nailed deeply into the hut, but it easily swung open, revealing a vaguely familiar witch. She hurriedly pulled him inside and shut the door behind them.

"Hello," said Harry, shrugging out of his Invisibility Cloak. "Didn't I see you after … on Boxing Day? Acrimony, wasn't it?"

"Atramenta," she corrected. "Atramenta Alliluyev." Her accent wasn't at all Russian. "And you're Harry Potter, of course. I had the pleasure of treating your girlfriend then, I remember."

"She's not exactly my girlfriend," said Harry. "Are you a Healer? I never really thought of V– of the Dark Lord as using them."

"Death Eaters need medical help as much as anyone," said the witch. "And more than most. Do you have the girl?"

Harry took the bag off his neck, reached in and pulled Cho out. Atramenta took a hold of her.

"I'd better get her to my lab as soon as possible," said Atramenta, and she and Cho vanished with a crack.

"Hermione?" Harry said. She climbed out of her bag, and wrapped her arms around Harry.

"I can't believe it," she said. "That was insane … we're still alive … we rescued _Cho_ from a pair of dead alchemists … give me a minute, I'll be alright, just…"

"Er, Hermione," said Harry.

"Please," she said, hugging him even more tightly, "just a moment?"

"Sure," he said, "but, I was just going to say, you're still in your knickers."

She looked down, took the Cloak off him, and put it on, leaving the hood down. "Oh," she said. "I'm just glad it's spring now."

"Right," said Harry, his mind not quite at full speed.

Hermione shook her head. "Boys. Should we fly back in, or – no, there are probably wards against inbound flyers."

"Yeah, they went off when we left," said Harry. "Let's not try that again."

"Well, there's a secret passage right here," said Hermione. She led Harry to it, her head bobbing along without visible support, daintily holding the Cloak above her knees.

"You know, you were right," Harry said. "You really do have nice calves."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione replied.

.. ... ...

They were under the Whomping Willow when Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and squeezed.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered.

There was silence for a moment, then a roar not unlike a Hippogriff's, a scream, the crackle of spellfire, and an explosion.

"What a fantastic coincidence," Harry said. "Let's go."

He climbed out of the passage, touched the knot to still the Willow, stood upright, dusted himself down, and was bowled head over heels.

He landed on his back, half winded, with a large black-and-pale quadruped on top. The beast snarled, and Harry's survival instincts kicked in. He jerked up his knee and hit it with both elbows; the beast reared back and drove a fist into Harry's gut, hard.

"_Depulso_!" cried Hermione; the creature flew off Harry, but braced its hind feet against the grass, digging long furrows and slowing itself, then lunged for her instead. "_Stupefy_! _Impedimenta_!" Both spells ricocheted off without effect, and then it was on her.

Harry rolled to his feet and leapt on it, raining down blows on the back of its neck. It absorbed the first two and kicked backward, throwing Harry off, before jumping back on him. It took a vicious swipe along his face, drawing blood and knocking his glasses off. Harry got a leg up and got it in the stomach.

"_Incarcerous_," Hermione said, and finally the spell worked: ropes appeared from nowhere and bound the monster. "_Episkey_." The scratches on his face healed. "Your glasses."

"Thanks," said Harry, and got to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," said Hermione, whose right cheek was bruised. Her eye was already swollen shut. "It's – is that…"

The monster was struggling against the conjured ropes. With more than half a second to look it over, Harry could see that it wasn't black and white fur, but black robes and pale skin. He walked over and kicked it onto its back.

"… Ernie Macmillan," he said.

There was no mistaking it. His nails were now long claws and his face was contorted in animal fury, his normally well-coiffured blond hair straggly and his robes torn, but it was him.

"… Do you have any idea what's going on?" Hermione asked, and then Ernie broke the ropes.

He went for Hermione again; Harry intercepted, and they both went down. Ernie was faster this time, and sank his teeth into Harry's neck.

"_Wingardium leviosa_," Hermione said, and lifted Ernie ten feet. She ran around him. "_Depulso_." He flew into the Whomping Willow, whose docility had worn off; one branch whirled down and smacked Ernie into the grass. He didn't get up.

"Ow," Harry said with feeling, pressing against his neck.

"Oh, Harry – _Episkey_." The wound closed over, still stinging. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," he said, then looked around. "Er, Hermione."

Bodies were scattered along the path from the castle to the Quidditch pitch, which was badly pockmarked from missed curses. All around the castle were more students, prowling around like big cats. Eight of them were approaching at a run.

"Broom," she said.

He put his hand over his purse. "Up."

Hermione got on behind him and he kicked off thirty feet. The eight students slowed to a lope, watching them hungrily.

There was no siren this time; possibly the air defences were spent. He took a moment to examine the monster children below. Six of them wore Hufflepuff ties; there were also a Ravenclaw first-year boy and a Gryffindor which, Harry realised with a jolt, was Colin Creevey.

"What in the name of…" Harry said.

"Go to the Great Hall," said Hermione. "That's the obvious place for people to have fallen back to."

The main entrance was sealed; Harry had to find a window. The hallways were surreal: echoing with the echoes of battle, dusted with debris and craters, and completely deserted except for one very dead ICW guard. The Great Hall was no better. The tables had apparently been used as failed barricades against the doors; they had been smashed to splinters. Five bodies lay on the ground.

"My god," Hermione whispered.

Harry followed his ears to the main stairwell system. This was worse.

The last normal students and teachers had fallen back to the fourth floor and blasted out every staircase below. About two dozen monster students, unperturbed, leapt fifteen feet at a time over the holes in the structure, or around the walls. The teachers kept knocking them down with Banishing Charms, but the monsters didn't let something like a thirty foot fall stop them from trying again. Tracey Davis was accurately firing scintillating purple curses from the fifth floor, which seemed to be the only thing to keep them down.

Two monster students leapt at Harry; he dodged easily and shot up to level with the teachers. They stared for a moment.

"_Keep firing_!" snarled Snape, whose chest and wand arm were bleeding badly, and who was leaning heavily against a shell-shocked Malfoy. "Potter. Granger. What were you doing downstairs? We thought those things had already killed everyone below the third floor."

"We were in an empty classroom," said Hermione. "They must have missed us. What's going on?"

Snape gave her a 'don't ask stupid questions' look. "Precisely what it looks like, Granger. Half of Hufflepuff has gone mad. The Auror watch is either dead or turned. Your Head of House has gone to the Headmaster's office to try to seal as much of the castle as possible and stop them flanking or, Merlin help us, getting above us. Dumbledore's at the Ministry today; we're on our own for now."

"Hufflepuff?" Hermione asked. "Why Hufflepuff?"

"_I don't know, Granger_!" Snape shouted. "We were at the Quidditch match and, without warning, they turned and began attacking the rest of us. We barely got out alive."

Harry's eyes flicked upward to the students on the floor above, and locked gazes with Daphne Greengrass for a split second. She turned away and joined the crowd heading further upward.

"Berserker Potion," he whispered. "It's _him_."

"What?" said Hermione.

Out of the crowd of students above came Ron. He jumped onto the stairs' bannister and slid down next to them.

"Thank Merlin you're alright," he said, hugging both. "Hermione, why are you invisible? I can see your thighs, and it doesn't feel like you're wearing anything under–"

"Stop that train of thought right there," Hermione said, adjusting the Cloak to better cover her legs.

"Guys, we've got to get to the pitch," said Harry. "He might still be there."

Ron stared. "You mean – You-Know-Who?"

"No, I mean _the Marionette Man_. He must have put a potion in – in Fred and George's hot dogs."

Snape, who had turned to the battle, looked sharply over at him. "What potion? I've never heard of one that could do – this." He indicated the monster students, and Banished one who had made it up to the third floor.

"It's what he's using, trust me," said Harry. "He used a variant to rile up the Acromantula at the Circus last year. These are the same symptoms."

"If that's true," said Snape, "it's vital that I get a sample of that potion. He may use it a third time; if I can reverse-engineer it, I may be able to work out a counter."

"Er," said Harry. Snape would be an asset, but he'd also be a pain. And he was wounded.

"_Accio Cleansweep Four_," said Snape, his wand in his left hand.

"I'm coming too," said Ron.

"What?" said Harry. "Why would I want more people to follow me doing something dangerous?"

"Because single-handed, you don't stand a chance against him," Hermione said. "Remember Hogsmeade?"

"That doesn't mean –" Harry began.

"_Accio Deluge_," Ron said.

"I can do this myself," said Harry. "If I can just surprise him…"

"I was unaware of subtlety being among your strong suits," Snape said, catching his broom left-handed and mounting it with difficulty.

Ron caught his and swung a leg over. "He's got a point," he said.

"Filius," said Snape, "can you hold the line here?"

Another of Davis' purple curses hit a monster student. It went limp, crashed to the rubble-strewn ground floor, and lay still. Twenty of its fellows ignored it. Davis swayed on her feet; Kevin walked over and braced her.

Flitwick was perched on a stair railing and conjuring ice boulders to drop, with variable accuracy. "As well as I can without you. _Ferula_." Bandages wrapped themselves around Snape's arm. "Good luck."

Hermione Blasted a stained-glass window out, and they flew over to the Quidditch pitch. The eight monster students from before were nowhere to be seen, which wasn't at all comforting.

The stadium was in bad shape. The Hufflepuff half was blackened and still smouldering; plenty of seats had been blown to smithereens; more bodies lay around, including four of the ICW Aurors. Nothing was moving.

Harry touched down in the Hufflepuff half. The twins had set up a cooking pit at the back; it was burnt beyond recognition.

"He was here," Harry said, nudging it with his foot. It collapsed into a cloud of cinders. "He used that Fiendfyre spell to destroy any evidence. _Dammit_."

Snape swooped down and batted his wand like a tennis racquet, deflecting a bright orange curse into the Slytherin stands and setting them alight. Ron jerked to the side; Harry kicked off. The Marionette Man was down on the pitch, and running into the Hufflepuff change rooms.

"_Don't let him_–" cried Harry, but it was too late; he'd already gotten under the eaves. "After him!"

He shot down to the ground, landed hard, and left his broom where it lay. Snape and Ron were only moments behind.

"Be careful," said Snape, "he must have more traps in there."

"If we don't follow _now_, he'll use that ultimate teleport spell and escape _again_," Harry said, and moved forward.

The Marionette Man was waiting only a few yards back, wand held out in a loose duelling position.

"Hello again," he said, in his awful grating voice. "You're not thinking of trying to fight me, are you? Last time, you didn't put up much of a showing."

Snape levelled his own wand. "Last time, I wasn't there."

The Marionette Man smiled. "A former Death Eater. And Dumbledore's man. I'm not interested in fighting you."

"How convenient," said Snape. "_Crucio_."

The Marionette Man pivoted and dodged, then returned fire. Ron and Hermione moved to either flank and threw annoyance jinxes. Harry ran forward.

"_Legilimens_!"

It was nothing like Hermione's warm, happy, well-organised mind. Images flashed across his mind's eye, but they were dull and flat, and faces kept melting and re-forming into bizarre shapes.

(fear)

(Mary Hatter) an image of a freckly brunette (gone)

(talking to Dwynwen Greengrass, buying the Berserker) (serve them right)

(Dumbledore) (at the centre of everything)

(himself, talking to a mirror) (my name is)

(Christine Prestio) a plump girl with dirty blonde hair (gone)

Distantly, as though under water, Harry heard Ron cry "_Expelliarmus_!"

(my name is) (N–)

(hate) (everything)

(pouring the Berserker onto a dozen dead chickens, throwing them to the Acromantula colony)

(Scott Higgs) a boy with light green eyes (gone)

(my name is) (Nih–)

(sacrificed) (sacrificers) (Ministry) (make them pay)

(all of them gone)

(destroying the Ministry) (will kill Fudge)

Somewhere far away, Snape shouted "_Crucio_" again–

(my name is) (Nigrus)

(RAGE)

(conjuring the Fiendfyre)

(Sally and Alice Smith) fraternal twins (gone, gone)

(Switching the Berserker into the hot dogs)

(gone) (gone) (gone)

(MAKE THEM PAY)

The Cruciatus connected, and he fell back, screaming. Harry fell to his knees.

"Professor!" cried Hermione, horrified. "That's Unforgivable!"

Snape broke the curse, panting. He swayed on his feet; his arm was bleeding again. "He's an outlaw, Granger, that literally means legal protections and penalties don't apply to him, and that's the only unblockable curse which can incapacitate without killing."

The Marionette Man climbed back to his feet, wandless but still deadly. "Incapacitate?" he repeated. "You know nothing about me. That curse is _nothing_ compared to the deaths of all of my friends. You're a Legilimens, aren't you? Why don't you try that? Are you afraid?"

"No, but I know an obvious trap when I see one," said Snape.

The man turned to Harry. "We're not so different, you know," he said. "What do you suppose you will do, after she's gone? What will you do to the society who thought Quidditch more important than her?"

"I'll start by _talking_ to people, rather than drugging them or setting them on fire," said Harry.

"You'll start," said the man. "And when that fails?" He turned to Hermione. "You know, you remind me of a friend I once had. Ask Harry about Mary Hatter sometime."

"Shut up," Hermione said.

The man turned to Ron. "That was a good jinx, boy. Wouldn't have worked if I hadn't been distracted, but still good. Give me back my wand."

"You're kidding," said Ron, pointing both wands at him.

"This is the fourth time I've shown that I don't kid, and I don't bluff," said the man. "I still have the upper hand here. Give me it, or I will kill you."

"_Stupefy_," said Ron, firing twin jets of red.

The Marionette Man danced around them and said, "_Trigger Ron bomb_."

There was a blast, and a concussion wave slammed Harry into the wall.


	18. An Interlude in March

The explosion blew Ron in half. Harry and Hermione were thrown into the wall on the right. Snape was knocked sprawling. The Marionette Man's wand was thrown clear; he leapt, caught it, slipped and crashed to the ground. The shockwave took out the load-bearing wall on the left; the ceiling collapsed onto Ron and Snape.

Hermione staggered drunkenly and caught at Harry for balance. He took a step toward the Marionette Man, who was unsteadily getting to his feet, and raised his wand.

"_Reducto_," he said.

"_Protego_," replied his enemy, and deflected the spell into the wall just behind them. Another support collapsed. Harry dived forward as more of the stands came down. The Marionette Man turned and began limping away; Harry moved to follow.

Hermione caught at his middle. "HARRY, DON'T!" she shouted. She was bleeding from the ears. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT OTHER TRAPS HE HAS READY!"

Harry shoved her away; her balance shot, she went sprawling. The Marionette Man stepped out of sight into the locker room; there was a bang a moment later. Harry was ten seconds behind, but he was already gone.

Harry looked around. There were a dozen lockers.

"_Reducto_," he said, pointing at each of them in turn, blasting the doors off.

"_Don't shoot_!"

Four potentially lethal curses vied for dominance in Harry's mind, before he realised it was a curly-haired little Hufflepuff girl.

"I – I hid in here," she sobbed. "It was like – I saw–"

Harry's fist tightened around his wand. He briefly considered cursing her anyway, or possibly punching a wall.

"Harry!"

He turned. It was Sirius, striding forward awkwardly with an arm under Hermione's shoulders. They both wrapped him in a hug.

"Harry, I've been trying to call you," he said. "On your two-way mirror. I just got McGonagall's Patronus; the Order's here, and the DMLE won't be far behind."

Harry felt into his purse, then rummaged around a lot, then gave up. "_Accio mirror_." There came the clunking of several heavy objects falling aside as the mirror shot into his hand.

"In future," said Sirius, "try keeping it somewhere you can hear it, rather than under twenty stone of random junk, Harry! Are you alright? Both of you?"

"WHAT?" asked Hermione.

"Hermione's deafened," Harry said. He turned to her, tapped her ears, and showed her the blood. "I'm fine, just a bit battered. Ron's … gone."

He suddenly had a pang of pity for the Marionette Man. Those names in his mind, his friends, all of them not dead but gone because he couldn't bear that pain … which he then took out on Ron. The pity evaporated.

"No," said Sirius. "Ron – Ron's–? You're certain? Merlin. Come on, let's get you both to the Hospital Wing. You too," he added to the Hufflepuff girl, "if nothing else, it'll be guarded by the time we get there."

Harry followed him out toward the pitch. "Wait – Snape's under that rubble, with Ron. He might still be alive."

Sirius clearly repressed a snide remark or two. "I'll send a few people back here to dig him out, once we meet up with the others. Come on. I'm getting you both to triage, and then we're getting the hell out of here."

"You're – you want me to pull out of Hogwarts?" said Harry.

"The much-vaunted defences didn't stop this place from turning into a real-life Inferius radio program," said Sirius, "so let's see if the Black Hole doesn't do a bit better. Do you already have everything you need?"

Sirius and Harry took up their own brooms. The Hufflepuff girl took Snape's. Hermione still couldn't stand by herself, and climbed on behind Harry, holding on tight. They kicked off.

"Yes," said Harry, "I keep everything in my purse, but are you sure pulling out is a good idea?" As then he'd be much less able to spy on or strike back at Dumbledore.

"I can tutor you," said Sirius. "And Hermione, if she decides to come. You'll pass your O.W.L.s and you can re-enrol if and when they catch that maniac."

"I guess," said Harry, casting around for excuses that might work on Sirius. "Maybe. But I don't know. The security will be increased again, won't it? There's no way he could get away with trying anything like this again."

"I don't know what they'll do," said Sirius, "but I do know they won't be able to use the Fidelius Charm, and I do know that's more secure."

"Hmm," said Harry, who rather doubted this. It hadn't saved his parents, and, according to Daphne, it wasn't likely to save him. "I don't like it. It'll look like I'm running away."

"Very probably," said Sirius, "on account of you will be running away. I know I'm probably not the world's best role model for knowing when to back down from a fight, but for Merlin's sake, Pup, if ever you listen to me, listen to me now. This is too dangerous for you."

"Yes, but it's not just about me, is it," said Harry. "I'm a figurehead for the Light. I'll lose that and any influence I might have if I don't act the part, and that influence could be important later, if we need to deal with a hostile Ministry again, for instance."

"The Order has its own ways of dealing with the Ministry," said Sirius.

"Yes," said Harry, "and they've worked marvellously so far, haven't they? They pretended he didn't even exist until he strolled right into their central HQ and left it a smoking crater."

"It's still not your responsibility," said Sirius.

"Excuse me," said Harry, "but the Marionette Man alone has killed, what, an average of three people a week? And I assume that Voldemort did worse than that at the height of his power, last time? If I can offer the Ministry enough good PR to get them to co-operate with you and end the war just two days faster, I've saved a life, and I rather think it _is_ my responsibility to save innocent lives where possible."

"Harry," Sirius said through grit teeth.

"Well, what about the effect on morale?" said Harry. "If I of all people drop out, everyone will. And if people are alone in their homes, they'll be sitting targets."

"And that's _not your responsibility_," Sirius repeated.

"WHO CARES?" Harry shouted back, suddenly, irrationally furious. "D'you think it was my _responsibility_ to rescue you that time two years ago? Or Ginny, from the Chamber of Secrets? Or to fight Quirrel for the Philosopher's Stone? What _matters_ is that if I hadn't done those things, Ginny would be dead, Voldemort would have resurrected himself three times over by now, and _you_ would be a soulless husk. I'm _not_ leaving Hogwarts and risking that sort of thing happening, just because the person who escaped the law on the back of a condemned Hippogriff thinks it's too _dangerous_."

They flew on in silence for a minute, then landed by the Hospital Tower. Four witches and two wizards Harry recognised from the Black Hole were patrolling in pairs, and waved Sirius on through.

"The school will probably close anyway," Sirius said at length.

"And if everyone leaves, then there's no point in me staying," said Harry, "and then I'll go back to the Black Hole without a word. Until then, I'm staying."

Sirius frowned.

"Don't take it personally," said Harry, "I do appreciate your concern, but you're not thinking things through."

Sirius still frowned.

There was already a queue at the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey had given beds only to those with life-threatening injuries, leaving Hermione at the back of the line.

"This looks like it could take a while," said Harry.

"I'm not leaving you," said Sirius.

"Not even when the battle's still going?" said Harry.

There was the distant sound of a Blasting Charm punching a hole in a wall.

"There are six guards outside, and a room full of invalids who'll be much more appealing targets than me," Harry said soothingly. "Go and vent some frustration on a Hufflepuff, and we'll talk it over later."

Sirius paused. "Fine," he said, "but you're to stay _right here_, even after Madame Pomfrey sees you both."

"Fair enough," Harry said.

Sirius left the room. Harry began counting and got to four before Hermione took his wrist and pulled him into the next corridor. Leaning heavily against him, she guided them toward the store room.

It was cosy inside. A bench with inbuilt cupboards lined one wall. Barrels lay around haphazardly. As it was out of bounds, Harry had never been there before, except one Friday night near the start of second year, when he had been bored.

Hermione motioned him to lock the door, then mimed writing. He Summoned parchment and a quill from his purse and gave them to her; she set them on the bench.

**I'm talking loud?**

Harry nodded.

**Eavesdroppers.**

He nodded again, then took the quill.

**Paranoid much?**

**We are out of bounds.**

**Don't think anyone cares.**

She shook her head at his naïvety.** Find bottle labelled _mandragora beneficia_.**

Harry began looking through the cupboards, but Hermione snagged his wrist and twirled her wand around a finger like a baton.

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly. "_Accio mandragora beneficia_."

A green bottle with the name handwritten on a label zoomed out of a cupboard and into his hand. Hermione held up three fingers, wrote **drop**, and lay on her side, pointing to her ear. Harry unscrewed the lid and let three drops run into her ear. She gave a thumbs up and rolled onto her other side; he repeated the process.

"Thanks," she said, at a reasonable volume. "Can you repeat this test sentence?"

"Can I repeat this test sentence?" Harry asked.

"Thanks," Hermione said again. She took the bottle, screwed the lid back on, wrote a receipt, and put them away. "_Scourgify_." The blood sloshed off her ears and robes and vanished. "And my balance is back, too. I do love magic sometimes. We should be fine to talk quietly, as long as I'm not shouting without realising it." She tore off the written-on parchment and Vanished it.

"You just happened to know the medicine for a ruptured ear drum?" Harry asked.

"Well, you know how we're having careers guidance later?" Hermione said.

"If the school isn't shut down, and we all survive that long," said Harry.

"Yes, that. I did some advance reading and thought studying to become a Healer looked good, and so I did some extra research for that, in case Professor McGonagall asked, just so I'd be prepared."

"Er," said Harry.

"And it's not specifically for a ruptured ear drum," said Hermione, "it's an inner-ear panacea. Professor Snape mentioned it last April."

"Oh, yes," he said.

"_Hominem revelio_," she said, without effect. "_Colloportus_." The door squelched. She put her wand away and lowered her voice. "We need an alibi for this morning."

"You don't think practising Legilimency was enough?" Harry asked.

Hermione demonstrated her lack of dress.

"Uh," he said.

"Focus, Harry. Legilimency does not involve either practitioner removing their clothes. _No_ magic involves removing one's clothes. Well, other than a few … interesting rituals the Ravenclaws brought up in Arithmancy."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Purely for academic reasons," Hermione said, flushed. "They've been a bit obsessed with rituals ever since Terry bet Anthony he couldn't think of a way to emulate an atom bomb with magic, and the rest of the class took _sides_. They're lovely people, really, just not very practical sometimes."

"Moving along," said Harry.

"Well, I'm fairly sure any such ritual would be against school rules," said Hermione, "and it would be a pretty weak story since neither of us really knows anything about them. I can only think of one plausible story: the obvious one."

"I'd prefer not to tell other people that," said Harry.

Hermione sniggered. "You don't want people to think you cheated on your Secret Admirer?"

Harry poked her in the side. "Annoying though you can be, I do like you. I don't want people to start thinking I only hang out with you because I want to. You know."

"What do you mean, start?" Hermione asked. "It's what everyone's been assuming we do during Occlumency, all year. I mean, it's an art with no visible results; anyone would think we were snogging at the very least. Especially after that Skeeter article last year, remember?"

"No, I've somehow forgotten," said Harry, "because I'm pretty sure that only mentioned a love triangle. That we were dating and you were seeing Krum."

She stared. "Are you _actually_ that innocent? For heaven's sake, Harry, you share a dorm with Seamus. Even _I_ know what genre of literature he prefers. 'Dating' is a euphemism used for a purportedly family newspaper. Readers – especially the sort of ones who read Skeeter – substitute something a little stronger in."

"Oh, well, in that case, full steam ahead," said Harry. "Couldn't we just deny everything?"

"Half the school saw my undies ten minutes ago," said Hermione. "That ship has already sailed. Speaking of which, _accio pants_."

Her Summoned clothes flew in one by one through a window, and Harry awkwardly turned aside while she got dressed and finally removed the Cloak.

"Note to self: carry spare robes in bag," said Hermione.

"Can we please focus?" Harry said.

"I don't see why you're worked up over this," Hermione said. "In the past, people have accused you of _petrifying_ me. This shouldn't even rate a mention. And that's aside from the fact that we have _much more important things to worry about_. Such as the psychopath who just killed our best friend."

Harry could operate fine as long as he could distract himself on fighting or flying or arguing, but not when it was brought back to him with no escape.

"Yeah," he said, and sat down on the bench. Hermione sat beside him and let him lean against her shoulder. "Yeah."

They sat that way for long minutes.

"Does it feel this way to you, too?" Harry said.

"It feels," Hermione said, and paused. "It feels easier than I thought it would."

Harry looked at her.

"He was one of my two best friends," she said. "I should feel like half my world's been torn apart, shouldn't I? But I don't. I just feel like it's another body blow. Maybe it'll be worse later on. Maybe it just hasn't set in, yet?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "I really hope not."

They sat in silence for a little longer.

"Sirius will get back soon," said Hermione. "Let's go back to the waiting room."

.. ... ...

They talked Sirius into not pulling them out of Hogwarts, and got to watch the day's clean-up. Ministry-sponsored Healers showed up soon after and helped with the wounded, along with Aurors, several of which seemed to know Davis' nasty purple curse.

"What does it do, anyway?" Harry asked.

"It's too Dark for me," said Sirius, "but I think it's a Detaching Curse. It separates muscles from nerves. Even beings which don't get scrambled by pain or disruption magic get disabled by it. It's a banned spell in most duelling circuits; it's usually illegal to use any sort of really vindictive magic. I mean, a Stunner wins the duel and is easier to use; the only reason you'd Detach someone is to cause pain and a longer recovery time."

"Trust a Slytherin to know a spell like that," said Harry.

"Can't say it wasn't good timing, though," Hermione granted. "I suppose they'll how to find an antidote for the potion somehow, or hope it wears off by itself."

They assembled in the Great Hall. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were the only Heads of House still standing (Professor Sprout had died just outside the Quidditch pitch, and Snape was in the Hospital Tower, swearing the air sky blue), so they assigned prefects to take head counts and eventually account for everyone. The very last person found was Professor Llywarch.

"Where in Merlin's name were you?" Sirius demanded.

"Doing exactly what I've been telling twelve classes to do for the past year," she said, "and _hiding_."

"You're supposed to be an Auror!" Sirius shouted.

"An _intelligence agent_," she corrected with a glare, "and I would have happily helped them if the eight elite soldiers had accomplished anything. At the pitch, the first fifty spells did nothing except get the casters killed."

"Excuse us," said Sirius, and led her out of the room, but then shouted loud enough for the entire school to overhear them anyway. "I thought you were supposed to be brave! What use are you if you run and hide at the first sign of danger?"

"With all due respect, sir, screw you."

Harry strained to hear her, but Hermione pointed back to the knot of remaining teachers. Dumbledore, Fawkes on shoulder, was talking in a low voice to Professor McGonagall. A moment later, there was a flash of fire, and man and bird vanished.

"_Sonorus_. Students," Professor McGonagall said. "Please. Silence."

There had been only the dullest of muttering before, but that died instantly.

"As you know, we have just now been subjected to a brutal attack by one of the Darkest wizards of our time. We have all lost, and we will all grieve. But I want you all to remain strong, even in this darkest hour. We must remain united and brave, and we must not panic." She sighed, and some of the fight left her. "Prefects, please lead your Houses to your dormitories. Aurors will accompany you. Lunch will be brought up to you. Please remain there, do not leave for _anything_ until tonight. Thank you."

It was too crowded in Gryffindor Tower to talk safely, so Harry trudged up to his dorm and slumped back onto his bed; Hermione stayed in the common rooms as Prefect. Inside his own head were two things to think about, and one was his dead friend.

_Voldemort. Has Cho woken up yet?_

_Yes. Only briefly, praise the Lord._

_?_

_I know you didn't tell the Flamels to take her, but you couldn't have picked a whinier girl. As soon as I neutralised the sleeping enchantment, she spent two whole hours throwing a tantrum._

_Well, her boyfriend and best friend have both died. And that was before she was abducted to be sacrificed, and then abducted again and imprisoned by Death Eaters, and now even her own family doesn't remember her._

_Granted, but even so, she just would not shut up. Atramenta eventually got fed up and force-fed her more sleeping potion._

_Possibly that's not the best sort of therapy._

_If you're looking for a hobby, take her and welcome. Now is there something you'd like to tell me?_

_I assumed you already know._

_Yes, but an extra account couldn't hurt._

_Ron's dead._

… _What? Was he torn apart by a Hufflepuff? What an embarrassing way to go._

_Don't _push_ me right now. We duelled the Marionette Man. He had a spell, 'trigger Ron bomb'. Did exactly what it sounds like._ Harry transmitted a five-second memory of the end of the fight.

… _Are you sure that was a spell?_

_Well, unless it was diabolic intervention–_

_It's just that that doesn't sound like a spell, etymologically. It isn't Ascended Latin, for one thing, it's English. For another, if that were a spell, and it were as powerful as that seemed, then I should have heard of it before. I wouldn't be wasting my time with the easily-dodged Killing Curse, certainly._

_What do you think it was, then?_

_There are two obvious possibilities. One is that he had an accomplice, probably behind you and invisible. It was a coded phrase meaning 'hit him with a Blasting Curse'._

_If he had an accomplice, why wouldn't he have just killed us all? We were down for the count for several moments after that._

_You said after Hogsmeade that he alluded to the sacrificers. If he somehow guessed that you and Hermione were opposed to them, he'd consider you both potential allies._

_Why doesn't he just tell the whole world, then? He could send more Howlers…_

_For the same reason I don't. Dumbledore thinks I'm not telling anyone, and, therefore, that I probably don't actually know much about it. If I told everyone, he'd know I know, and then he would cover his tracks even more thoroughly and soon no-one would believe me anyway, except gullible idiots. And then he'd use Legilimency on everyone to check if anyone did believe me. Also, because if everyone knew about the ritual, the Slytherin seventh-years would start sacrificing the Hufflepuffs, and things would only go downhill from there._

_As is, though, I can tell a select few and be reasonably confident of keeping it secret, as long as I pick my confidantes well. You, obviously, because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, and nobody suspects you even though you can't lie your way out of a wet paper bag. Hermione, because she's the nearest thing Hogwarts has to a competent student and if she picked Lupin as a werewolf, she could pick you as a spy._

_And a few others, too, I bet?_

_I'll name them after you become a trusted lieutenant. I award that honour posthumously._

_Right. What was the other possibility, other than an accomplice?_

_A password-triggered spell. If he – or more likely an older, cleverer, more powerful wizard – wrote a rune, or enchanted an object you didn't notice, that would fire the curse on hearing the phrase. I'm not sure how to make such a system aim, but I expect it's possible. This feels much likelier; I have a feeling he used a rune._

_Hmm._

Aurors kept the castle in lockdown all day. The Fat Lady's portrait was sealed. Dinner appeared magically in the common rooms. This all suited Harry just fine, as he wasn't really up to moving around far. He brushed his teeth and lay back down to bed immediately after dinner. To his surprise, after a sleepless hour, Hermione pushed back the hangings and climbed in after him. She shucked her robes and bag, revealing a burgundy nightgown.

"What!" he said.

"Harry?" came Neville's voice.

"Oh," said Harry, "nothing, I just got to an interesting part of this book I've been reading." He lowered his voice. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"You had nightmares for ages after Cedric died," she whispered back, "and he was only a Hufflepuff."

"What about your reputation?" he asked. "What will people say about you, if they find out?"

"If it's anything other than 'bossy know-it-all with bad hair', it's a step up," she replied. "And get your mind out of the gutter. I wasn't planning on _doing_ anything, other than waking you up if you had nightmares again."

"Hermione," he said, "this is sweet of you, but I'll be fine. I grew up with the Dursleys. If nothing else, I'm resilient."

"Yes," she said, climbing under the cover and wrapping around him, "but I'm not."

.. ... ...

She was gone before he awoke. It was a long time before he could decide whether it had been a dream. Feeling tired but not so bad as he should have, he showered, dressed and went down to breakfast. Most of the school was already there. Malfoy was sitting at one end of the Gryffindor table; Ginny was leaning against him. Hermione was toward the far end, reading the morning paper. Harry sat by her and checked the headlines.

_The Daily Prophet_

_Hogwarts Attacked_

_Dumbledore Minister For Magic_

_ICW Mobilised_

He slammed down the paper. "This is the last straw," he said, voice shaking.

Hermione took Harry's hand, ran a thumb over it, and motioned him to leave the table. The other students looked up from their breakfast as they left, then went back to picking at their food.

"This was his plan all along," Harry said, as Hermione pulled him into an empty classroom. "Have his puppet launch terror raids until the people are so scared they demand him to become Minister."

"I've read those articles in a bit more depth," said Hermione, "and I think you're right. He's re-established himself a a member of the ICW and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He doesn't have full control of both yet, but it's only a matter of time, if people think he's the only chance they have against the Marionette Man and Voldemort. Which, ironically, he probably is; I can't imagine he'd have the attacks continue. At least, not until the panic dies down or an election comes up."

"And Voldemort won't act, either," said Harry. "Not while Dumbledore controls the DMLE."

"So, what?" said Hermione. "Is this it? Is the future just a boot stamping on a human face, forever?"

"Hermione," said Harry, who had never read Orwell, "the Marionette Man has just killed our best friend. This is _personal_ now. We cannot find him, so we will flush him out the only way we can. We are going to kill Dumbledore."

"… Wow," said Hermione. "But how? You heard Voldemort; even if we could kill him, he has a way to resurrect himself. And even Voldemort has no idea how to prevent that, without using that Dark kettle you gave him, despite not having had any proof he wasn't just making the entire sacrificial ritual thing up."

"You believed him too," said Harry defensively.

"Well, yes, but I'd shared Arithmancy with the Ravenclaws for two years," said Hermione. "I swear, one of them is going to blow up the world one day. Su and Padma once spent four weeks working out the exact number of kittens you'd need to sacrifice to displace one human in the _relicto diaboli_ ritual."

"…" said Harry.

"They're lovely people really," said Hermione.

"You keep saying those words, and they keep meaning less every time," said Harry.

"At any rate," said Hermione, "I picked up enough to know that Voldemort's suggestions made sense. Anyway, how were you hoping to kill him? He's resigned as Headmaster; he won't even be here at the school."

"I don't know," said Harry. "But I do have one idea that might get him apart from the DMLE and Order. Speaking of which, I need to check something."

_Hey, Voldemort. You have moles in the Ministry, right?_

_Of course, but they can't do anything overt with Dumbledore in charge._

_Is Hogwarts part of a Ministry-controlled Floo set-up?_

_Yes. There's an intranet set up, whereby one can travel or communicate internally, and the Ministry can't block that, but the outgoing connections are managed by the Department of Magical Transportation, specifically the Floo Network Authority. The fireplaces officially available to students aren't connected to the full network, but of course that isn't too hard to circumvent._

_Good. Now, could your moles disconnect Hogwarts from the full Floo Network?_

_Yes, with an asterisk. This would certainly be detected shortly after, and the culprits identified. So it could be done, but it would reveal my spies, and the connection would be repaired soon after._

_How soon?_

_Uncertain. It depends on any number of external variables, and a lot of luck. I'd be ninety-five percent confident it would be between, say, five minutes and thirty._

_What if there were a distraction?_

_Heh heh heh. It's about time you learnt how to think properly. With a basic one, I think I could all but guarantee at least ten minutes. If I really put my back into it, probably hours._

_Ten minutes should be more than enough. Let me get back to you when I iron out the details._

_Surely it would make more sense to tell me now, so that I can help you iron out those details?_

_Good point. Okay, so Dumbledore's bound to come back here sooner or later, to give an inspirational speech or leaflet for the Order of the Phoenix or something, right? So he, and everyone else there, will be under an Anti-Disapparition Enchantment–_

"Harry," said Hermione. She'd scanned more headlines. "I have more bad news."

"What is it?"

She handed him the paper and pointed to the bottom of page 16.

_Weasley twins arrested, accused of gross negligence, mass manslaughter_

"… Of course," snarled Harry. "That's this entire country in a nutshell, isn't it? The people actually responsible get off without even a slap on the wrist, and the already-ruined businessmen get the book thrown at them." He turned on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked.

"To have the blame put where it belongs," he said over his shoulder.

In the Hall, he strode up to Daphne and tapped her on the shoulder. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his expression.

"Excuse me," she said, and followed him out into a second classroom. She cast her usual battery of anti-eavesdropping charms. "Don't worry, Potter. The potion wears off. The ones who drank it are all fine by now. Well, other than the effects of Davis' curse, but the Healers can deal with that by themselves."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," Harry said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Fred and George Weasley are being prosecuted for negligence and manslaughter, after they realised the Marionette Man used their hot dogs as a vector."

Daphne looked at him expectantly.

"I am unhappy about this," Harry explained.

"Yes, I assumed you liked them," she said. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because – because it's unjust," he said, astonished that she honestly seemed not to get it, "and I want you to do something about it."

"You mean, ask my parents to hire a lawyer for them?" she said. "You really don't know me at all, do you?"

"I _mean_, it was your family's potion that was used," said Harry, "and if they _hadn't_ sold it to him, he wouldn't have been able to do it, so in a very real sense yesterday's attack was partly your family's fault."

"Yes," said Daphne, "otherwise he'd've had to use slow-acting poison instead, which would have killed all fifty drinkers, rather than – did you hear the estimates? Twenty, twenty-five?"

Harry ignored this. "Whereas if the twins hadn't been there, he just would have put the potion into a shipment of Honeydukes chocolate, so in no sense were they responsible."

"If you believe that," she replied, "why are you worried about the trial? They'll get off."

"Because this famous legal system of ours," Harry replied, "is the one which arrested and imprisoned Hagrid three years ago because, and I quote, 'the Ministry has to be seen to be doing something'."

"Dumbledore's in charge now," said Daphne. "I thought you Gryffindors idolised him."

"I thought so too," he said, "and maybe he will try to get them let off; after all the Weasleys are his biggest supporters. But he doesn't control the Wizengamot outright, and maybe he'll be too busy running the country."

Daphne shrugged. "Maybe. Again: why are you telling me this?"

"Because if you confess that the Greengrasses sold him the Berserker, there'll be no way for anyone to assert it's their own invention," said Harry, "and the lynch mobs will be satisfied, and they'll get the people who are actually at fault."

"If," said Daphne.

Harry stared. "You honestly believe your family isn't more culpable than the twins?"

She gave him a level look. "Why are you so much more indignant about this now than two days ago? Why weren't you pushing for us to be prosecuted for making a dangerous sale?"

"Try, because two days ago was before the massacre?" he suggested. "Because my best friend was still alive? Because your inaction wasn't getting two good people thrown into Azkaban?"

She sniffed. "Your best friend is neither my fault nor my problem. We are not legally required to speak up and incriminate ourselves, and you don't have the right to tell us to. And two days ago, we hadn't done a thing differently. The only thing that's changed since then is that a former customer."

"Who massacred a school," Harry said, "yes, that's rather the point."

"Let me repeat that," said Daphne. "We haven't done a single thing differently, we haven't made any relevant sales, we haven't told anyone to do anything – and all of a sudden, we're guiltier? Azkaban-worthy guilt from nowhere, after doing nothing?"

"…"

"Every single business in the world," she lectured, "could be used lethally by a sufficiently inventive Dark wizard. So when is a business negligent? If it's when their product is actually used to kill someone, if it's not for being irresponsible at the time of the sale, then you're basically punishing them for being unlucky. And if it was at the time of the sale … why didn't you say something then?"

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again. Because it hadn't occurred to him that the Marionette Man would use it twice.

"Because you didn't foresee this happening?" Daphne went on. "Well, guess what, Potter, no-one did. No-one _could_ have. So to blame us for not doing it is pure hypocrisy."

"Well, what about the twins, then?" he said. "They could hardly have foreseen the Marionette Man sneaking in and doping their hot dogs with a potion they didn't even know existed."

"So I don't consider them culpable either," said Daphne. "They and my family have equal amounts of blame: namely, zero."

"It's still not right that the fact that you supplied the potions recipe should be completely ignored," said Harry. "Let the courts decide which or neither is to blame."

"I have even less faith in them than you," she said. "If the Greengrass name is even mentioned, it will damage our reputation and cost us gold, even if we're acquitted with an apology."

"What, so it's fine if the twins go to Azkaban, but if you lose some money–"

"They're _not my problem_," Daphne said. "I don't want them to be jailed – well, maybe Fred a little, he did turn me down – but not enough to put myself in danger. I'm not a Gryffindor," she added, pleased with herself.

"You may not be," said Harry, "but I am."

The temperature nosedived. "You promised you wouldn't tell," she said.

"That was before I knew that keeping my word would land two of my friends in Azkaban," he replied.

"And what do you suppose breaking it will achieve?" she asked. "You're an Occlumens; you can't back your words up with truth magic. It'll be your word against my family's, and, in practical law, when there's no evidence, the oldest and richest family always wins."

Harry growled.

"All you'll get," Daphne said, "is an enemy who would otherwise be happy to remain neutral, and a reputation as a liar. And, even if you didn't, that still doesn't change anything about the twins' case. There's every chance that you'll alienate us and not even get anything for it."

He glared at her. She looked down her nose back, despite being slightly shorter.

"Why don't you talk it over with Granger?" she suggested. "She's smart; she'd give good advice, wouldn't she?"

Harry unlocked the door and wrenched it open.

"Tell your investigators," he said over his shoulder, "his name is Nigrus."

"Nigrus?" she repeated. "As in–?"


	19. The Last Night

_AN: Like this one, the remaining few updates will be sporadic. Burnout's kicking in, and I'm back to uni full-time. I project another two chapters._

"As in Nigrus for black, Albus for white, yeah," said Harry.

Daphne grabbed him by the collar, pulled him back in, and shut the door. "You got this with Legilimency, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I would have thought the fact that Hermione and I were teaching ourselves that would be all over the grapevine, probably before it even happened."

"I'd heard that you two were snogging or worse and thought no-one would realise if you made some vague excuse about extra-curricular study about a subject which no-one but me has ever heard of," she replied, "which, for the record, precisely _zero_ people actually believe. I saw no need to enlighten anyone but Tori."

Harry considered this. He wasn't exactly happy with having another rumour flying around him and Hermione, but it was such a convenient one. Surely keeping his Legilimency as quiet as possible would be an advantage.

"So you think this is proof that he's Dumbledore Junior," Daphne continued. "I'm not so sure. If he was illegitimate and would cause a scandal, don't you think they'd name him something which _didn't_ obviously lead back to his family?"

"In a perfect world, yes," Harry said, "but Dumbledore thinks lollies make for secure passwords; he obviously isn't very creative with names."

"Touché," said Daphne. "It's exactly the sort of thing Dumble– why are we using first names to describe blood relatives? It's the sort of thing Albus would call his son … but the Greengrass PI thinks he's his nephew, not son."

"Er," said Harry. "You said that genetic disorder, marmalade or something…"

She gave him a look of contempt. "Marfanoid," she corrected.

"Like I said. You said it often caused stupidity. What if it made his mother, Albus' sister, mentally incompetent, and he named her son for her?"

Daphne considered this. "It's possible. But you know what I think? I think we've been had.

"Suppose the Marionette Man is just some random sociopath. He pulled off the Panemque and Hogsmeade attacks, and then the _Quibbler_ began saying he was Albus' son. Because the general public believes every asinine conspiracy theory you throw at it, they swallowed it down. So what would you do from there?

"What I would do is make as though the _Quibbler_ was right. Not only would people waste a huge amount of energy looking into Albus' past, not only would people waste time discussing trivia like that photograph of him with Gellert Grindelwald when they were young, but people might believe the rest of the _Quibbler_, which is almost certain to be wrong or a red herring at best. That's why this bit of evidence points to him being his son, rather than nephew, because it would persuade most people, not necessarily those who've done the most research into his fake cover."

"That's a big supposition," said Harry. "If he isn't Albus' nephew, who is he? How has he evaded the Aurors for so long; who is bankrolling him; why are there no records of him anywhere?"

"We might not have enough information to even guess those," Daphne said. "There are lots of people in Britain and the world; there's bound to be someone with money and a grudge."

Harry thought about this. "Okay, let's assume that. Why did I read that his name was Nigrus, then? It's be a bit of a coincidence if that was actually his name."

"He had it legally changed in advance," Daphne said promptly. "He bribed or brainwashed a minor Ministry employee to submit the paperwork, then Memory Charmed them. Or just killed them. Or he Memory Charmed himself, or we're wrong to assume he can't do Occlumency."

"Any of those would be an insane amount of preparation to defend against one single, supposedly obscure branch of magic," Harry said.

"I'm sorry, what made you think he was sane?" she shot back. "He's escaped security four times now; he's obviously always well-prepared."

"Maybe he isn't Dumbledore's nephew, then," said Harry. "I suppose we don't know either way, but it's not really relevant, is it? What's relevant is that they're obviously in cahoots, because your family traced him back to London, and because he's gotten Dumbledore elected Minister."

"True," said Daphne. "What was that address again? Number ten, Grimmauld Place, I think."

"No, number twelve," Harry corrected absently.

Daphne gave a very nasty smile. "I first told you it was number eleven," she said.

"…" said Harry.

"Which is exactly why you'll keep Greengrass' involvement with any unpleasantness strictly to yourself," she said. "Our PI _thought_ it was odd there was no number twelve in that street."

"That information is … political," Harry said. "You're supposed to be neutral."

"Which is why I've as happily blackmailed Malfoy every chance I've had in my life," she said smugly. "Neutrality doesn't mean we never screw anyone over; it means we always screw _everyone_ over."

Harry glared.

"There was another thing," Daphne continued, clearly deciding that she'd won and therefore hostilities would cease. "He dumped the Berserker into the hot dogs, probably while invisible, because no-one caught him. After that … why did he stick around? The stands were about to be overrun by rabid Hufflepuffs."

"He had to incinerate the remaining hot dogs afterward," Harry said. "So that no-one would be able to identify the potion."

"That would take him all of ten seconds," said Daphne. "With that nasty Fiendfyre spell of his. The window of opportunity for you to catch him doing that, or immediately after, is tiny. Plus, you didn't see any fire light or smoke. And then he attacked you from down on the _pitch_."

"… He planned to ambush us," Harry said.

"He might have even planned to let you use Legilimency to feed you misleading information, like that name," said Daphne. "After all, there were three Legilimens there; that can't be coincidence."

"But that makes _absolutely_ no sense," Harry replied. "Assuming he even knew about that, he couldn't have assumed we would have used the spell. Only one of us did; the others used Knockbacks and Cruciatus. And I could have finished him off while Snape had him down, if I'd had the sense."

But even as he spoke, he remembered how Nigrus had all but begged Snape to use Legilimency on him.

"Gryffindors," Daphne said, as though that explained everything.

"… And anyway," Harry went on, "he couldn't have known we'd be there. I only suggested it because I knew about the potion, and no-one but you knows I know that."

There was a pause.

"I'm not in league with the Marionette Man, Potter," she said. "Even if I weren't helping you against him, I hate him, because he hurt my sister at Hogsmeade, and because he's causing a recession which hurts the profits I'm first in line to inherit."

"That might be the most callous way possible to consider his attacks," Harry observed.

Daphne shrugged. "It gives it a personal touch. He _must_ have been expecting you, though, because he must have been Disillusioned, since you didn't see him when you first flew into the pitch. If he didn't want to fight you, he would have stayed put or cast his escape spell then. Maybe he had another plan waiting to draw you or someone else there, and you just got lucky and guessed about the potion before he put it into motion?"

"If that's true," Harry said, "the obvious guess would be Snape. He didn't take much convincing, especially from me, to go on what must have seemed a wild goose chase."

"And he's actually a triple agent?" Daphne asked, amused. "Interesting theory…"

"Isn't anything supposedly secret around here actually secret?" Harry asked.

"Davis is the most useful friend I don't have," Daphne said. "She hears all sorts of interesting things from her parents, who have contacts in the Death Eaters, among other groups. Snape might have been there at the Ministry, or tipped him off."

"No, Snape wasn't in the attacking group, and he didn't know about it beforehand," said Harry. "Voldemort doesn't trust him enough."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'd sell my sister's left kidney to know how you know that."

"I'm sure you would," he said. "Unless, of course, Dumbledore has _two_ spies in the Death Eaters, and the other told Snape…"

"I'd call Occam's Razor," said Daphne, "if I didn't think it was a near-certainty Dumbledore had two spies at a bare minimum. Although then the other should have told Dumbledore, who should have had an ambush waiting. Alternatively, You-Know-Who might have first told Snape about the raid when it was in progress, which would explain why it was interrupted rather than intercepted. If I were the Marionette Man looking to kill them and knew in advance what they'd do, I would have just hidden explosives in the lifts."

"I don't really think it was Snape, though," said Harry. "I've been proven wrong about him too many times before, and most good accomplices don't Cruciate one another. Besides, if it were, the Marionette Man wouldn't have suggested he use Legilimency; certainly not after I already did." He paused. "Unless Snape _did_, silently, and the Marionette Man used the connection to tell him to get ready to use a silent Blasting Curse on Ron? No, that spell almost killed Snape; surely he wouldn't have been that clumsy. Unless that's just what he wants us to think."

"We have a rule in Slytherin," said Daphne, and opened the door to leave. "That sentence ends all conversations. No exceptions."

.. ... ...

Unsurprisingly, given how many students and teachers were missing, McGonagall declared the next week a holiday, although she ran the Hogwarts Express for several families who insisted on pulling their children out. Most, though, were bolstered by Harry's presence, as well as that of over two dozen Aurors and a perimeter guard of security trolls, and chose to stay. Hermione, in particular, wrote a long, rather equivocative letter to her parents, telling them that while she acknowledged how bad the _Daily Prophet_ had made the attack out to be, things were actually wildly exaggerated, as usual, and she was really perfectly safe.

"And … you think they'll believe that?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Harry," she said, "between the troll, the Basilisk, Sirius Black when we thought he was a murderer, the Dementors, that time in the Second Task, and everything that's been going on this year, I've been lying to my parents about being in mortal danger since I got here. Trust me: I know how it's done."

Even though classes were cancelled and all of the teachers but Snape had offered amnesties on homework, Hermione was still, incredibly, studying. The remaining Gryffindors crowded around, watching in borderline awe, until in exasperation she left for the library.

"Aren't we worried about Pince being a sacrificer?" Harry asked softly, intercepting her just outside the Fat Lady's painting.

"She's never randomly eaten students before," said Hermione, "she's not about to start now."

"Why are you bothering, anyway?" Harry asked. "Don't tell me you don't want to fall behind, because even if anyone was doing work, and even the Ravenclaws aren't, you'd still be eighteen months ahead of the rest of us."

"Because if I don't," Hermione said gently, "I'll have nothing else to do but reflect on the fact that my second-best friend died because I messed up."

"Huh? What did _you_ do wrong?"

"I didn't Stun him while Snape held him under Cruciatus," she said, "or after, while we still had the drop on him. I didn't use Legilimency, which might have told me about the bomb trap. I didn't tell him not to come with us. I didn't ask Professor Flitwick, or a bunch of seventh-years, to escort us."

"Those are all really rubbish reasons," Harry said, "even by the usual standards of survivor guilt. For one thing, they all apply to me as well, and I note you haven't blamed me. Flitwick was busy keeping the Berserkers off the survivors, and we didn't know we'd meet him. I did use Legilimency, and I barely got anything except a headful of crazy. And none of us Stunned him."

"Are you going to tell me you think I haven't already thought of all that?" Hermione asked. "Guilt doesn't go away because you tell it it's illogical. It only goes away when you smother your mind with three hundred pages of French rune theory."

.. ... ...

While most students stayed, several did not. Dean Thomas took the Hogwarts Express out, along with a group of mostly Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. Those who had ingested the Berserker Potion were all shipped over to Saint Mungo's for observation and rehabilitation, and much of Hufflepuff was so unnerved they were happy to take the train. Along with Ron and Seamus, who had over forty broken bones and was comatose in Saint Mungo's, Dean's departure left only five Gryffindors in their year. Harry thought it only reasonable that most of the House of the brave should stay, but odd that almost no Ravenclaws left.

"Well, it's not like Gryffindor has a monopoly on courage," said Terry Boot when pressed near the Great Hall before breakfast one day, "if the Houses really lived up to their names, we'd have Hermione, wouldn't we? But mostly it's an internal game of chicken."

"What, with other Ravenclaws?" Harry asked.

"If I dropped out for three months, Kevin would overtake me in Transfig, maybe," Terry said. "As if I'd give him the satisfaction."

"As if I'd want you to," said Kevin, who was apparently within earshot, "it's much more fun prising it from your cold, dead mental fingers."

"You wish," Terry replied.

"My only _wish_ is that you idiots would stop saying Tracey was my girlfriend," he called back.

"I get the impression the other Houses aren't so competitive as we are," Terry went on to Harry. "Parvati said you don't even compare scores after tests."

"Hermione does," Harry said.

"Well, like I said," said Terry, and went over to the Ravenclaw table.

On one end of the Gryffindor table was Ginny, sitting apart from her friends of her own year, who evidently took exception to the fact that Malfoy was beside her, close enough that their outer thighs touched. She'd been hit hard by the death of one brother and the arrest of two more; Crabbe and Goyle were both in Saint Mungo's, and the Slytherin Quidditch Captain was dead too.

Harry was surprised enough to see them publicly together that he stopped and stared for a moment. Malfoy caught him.

"D'you have a problem?" he asked.

Harry's eyes panned from him, bowed yet defiant, to Ginny, alone, to her friends, who were pointedly ignoring her and pretending to be chipper, to the Slytherin table, which was a quarter empty.

"I wanted to wish you both well," said Harry. "Good luck."

He left them to continue over to Hermione, who was by herself, as usual. She had a large book open to a detailed drawing of a rune cluster with an equilateral triangle with an inscribed circle and inner glyphs. He took the seat next to her.

"Holding up alright?" he asked her.

"Hmm?" She looked up, then pushed the book aside and took a bite of her egg on toast, which had gone cold. "Yes, I'm fine."

He put an arm around her; she leant into him reflexively. Fortunately, Snape was still in traction, because if he'd been at breakfast he doubtless would have docked points. Thinking this, Harry's eyes slid over to the great hourglasses at the side of the hall.

"Why is Slytherin three hundred points ahead of us?" he asked. "They weren't doing _that_ well in Quidditch."

"Tracey Davis," Hermione said. "Snape gave her a twenty-five point bounty per enraged student she incapacitated. Professor McGonagall took points off because one died – a few people said Davis used a Killing Curse, although I don't believe that – but she still came out miles ahead."

Davis was sitting by herself at the Slytherin table. As Harry watched, a pair of first-years came up to congratulate her. She gave them a look like an angry wolf, and they scurried away.

The post owls flew in. Hermione gave a Knut to one bearing her a _Daily Prophet_, and took the letter from a school owl. Harry got a parcel and a letter, both bound in odious pink paper, shedding copious amounts of glitter. The parcel contained a wireless box.

_My dearest Harry,_

_I found this when I was out shopping the other day and I thought how awful it must be for you every summer living with those Muggles where you can't get the paper or much post (how are we going to keep in touch? Oh noooooooes) and don't get news or have any real contact with the wizarding world and you're wondering what's going on but can't find out, and I thought it'd be the perfect present so I bought this for you!_

_It should work even away from magical places, fingers crossed! My favourite channel is at 104.9 gwums, it's this really cool station that always plays cute boy bands – not as cute as you though! Witch Weekly has a program on 100.2 at four o'clock weekdays, and I think there's a Daily Prophet one at 98.2 or 98.4, I forget!_

_Think of me whenever you use it!_

_All my love, from_

_Your Secret Admirer!_

Hermione choked and sneezed at the cascade of glitter, blowing some of it into a carafe of pumpkin juice.

"_Evanesco glitter_," Harry said, waving his wand. "Sorry, Hermione." _Those horrible, horrible letters are getting worse. Are you using more glitter?_

_Realistically, your secret admirer would be getting more affectionate toward you as time goes by, wouldn't she?_

_Realistically, she'd be locked up by now. We'll get to work on this tonight. Do you think your end can be ready by the end of the week?_

_Planning these operations takes time and money. One has to carefully identify targets, lay bribes and blackmail at the right feet at the right times, and work out endless contingencies. Furthermore this particular outing co-ordinates simultaneous events in three separate locations. I predict it will take me a few months to get everything down._

_Oh my god. You're going to do it right after exams _again_? Is this a _thing_ for you?_

_If you'd come up with the idea in October rather than screwing around learning the foxtrot with the only girl to give you the time of day, I'd be done by now. Is it a thing for _you_?_

_I'll have you know it was swing, not foxtrot._

"Hey, that's the same model as mine," said Lavender, sliding over.

"What a coincidence," Harry said. "I suppose there probably aren't too many different makes of wireless on the market."

"Does the girl who sent you that know about," Lavender said, and pointed at Hermione with her nose.

Hermione scooted away from him. "We're not a couple," she stammered.

Harry wasn't sure whether she was stammering because she still had that crush on him, or because she wanted Lavender to think she was lying, to strengthen their alibi for the day of the attack.

"Ahh," said Lavender with a wink. "What I wouldn't give to know who she is…" She glanced at the letter before Harry could snatch it away. "'Secret admirer'? Do you even know?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"So, who is the lucky lady? Do I know her? Does she go to Hogwarts? Is she a Gryffindor?"

"I'm not telling, and, trust me, you're not going to be able to guess," Harry said truthfully.

Lavender's eyes flicked to Hermione. "Do you know?"

"I know that she's absolutely no business of mine," Hermione said.

"Very sensible thought for a girl in your position," Lavender agreed.

Harry sank his head into his hands.

.. ... ...

When Hogsmeade burnt, two Hogwarts students died. One was dealt with during the mass funeral for the dead villagers; the other received a private funeral with his parents. In the Hogwarts Attack, as it was now known, twenty-four people died, all included, and a Hogwarts mass funeral was scheduled for a week from the day. The students assembled in the grounds, not far from what used to be Hagrid's pumpkin patch, where a pyre had been constructed. The teachers stood among them and families who'd come to grieve.

Harry got a look at the Weasleys. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, along with Bill, Charlie and Percy. Fred and George were being held for trial at the Ministry; Dumbledore had gotten them out of staying at Azkaban, but the Wizengamot demanded someone be punished, and it would take a long time and some careful politicking to get them released. Ginny was with them, Malfoy's arm around her. Mrs. Weasley and Bill shot him unliking looks; he stuck his chin out and glared back. Harry turned on his heel and walked away; Hermione caught up at the back of the crowd and touched his arm to restrain him.

"I can't deal with this," he whispered.

"You have to," she replied. "You have to deal with your grief somehow."

"I don't _want_ to deal with my grief," he hissed back.

"Harry, you can't just…"

"Look, I just have to hold up until the end of semester, and then we'll be done with O.W.L.s and" he gave her a significant look "everything else this year, and I'll have months of summer holidays, and I'll work through everything then. But not now."

"I'm not talking about O.W.L.s," Hermione said seriously. "I'm talking about _you_. Whenever something bad happens, you bottle up your feelings about it until you explode and curse someone, usually Malfoy or Voldemort. It's not healthy. Just stay here until the end of the service."

He looked ready to leave anyway, so she interlaced her fingers with his to make him stay. A Ministry official amplified his voice and began speaking. He got all of two sentences in before Harry forcibly tuned him out; he shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and put up his strongest Occlumency barriers.

Hermione's fingers occasionally tightened around his. Her pulse was steady, about five beats per four seconds. She kept glancing over at him, but otherwise didn't fidget.

On his left were two families, already crying; he could feel the ripples of their bodies shaking. There were eight people between them, five from one family and three from another. On his right were some of the younger Gryffindors; one he recognised as a second-year, and the others were about the same size or slightly larger. Near the front was the clique of Ravenclaws, heads bowed, and some of the Slytherins.

After a few minutes, the official lit the pyre, and the bodies of the fallen were levitated on one by one. Harry didn't listen to their respective eulogies. Ron was in a closed coffin.

He felt the height of the flames, the heat palpable even at this distance, and pictured the bodies disintegrating, their minds, magic and souls vanishing forever, their component material particles separating and blowing into the air. Over years, they'd be absorbed by grasses and make them grow, and then be eaten by rabbits and then foxes, and then cycle back again. Years later, they'd be taken up by a pumpkin plant, and the pumpkin would be eaten by a pregnant mother, and over the next few months, another soul would form, and over the next twenty years magic and mind, and, one day, they'd be human again.

His eyes popped open. The funeral was over. People were milling around, heading back to the castle. Hermione was still patiently standing beside him, now looking into his eyes.

"?" she asked.

"It hasn't changed," he said, "that I'm sad about what's happened, or what I want to do to make amends and stop it from happening again. But … until then … I think I'm going to be all right."

She just smiled and nodded, and they walked back to the castle, not unlacing their fingers.

.. ... ...

Somehow, life went on at Hogwarts.

Since the now Headmistress McGonagall had too many administrative duties to continue teaching, she had to hire a replacement Transfiguration teacher within a week. Given the jinx on the Defence position and the fact of the attack, there was precisely one applicant. Harry went to find him on the Sunday before classes resumed.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed with delight. "I never knew you wanted to teach!"

"I didn't, not really," Sirius admitted. "But McGonagall needed someone on short notice, and I was feeling bored. Not enough Death Eater attacks. They've barely done anything since they've come back, except some Muggle-baiting in Glasgow. I think Voldemort's losing his touch."

"Do you know much about Transfiguration?" Harry asked.

"I got a N.E.W.T. in it," Sirius said. "O, too. Poppy helped a lot. She was something when she was younger, believe me." He got a misty, reminiscent look.

"Moving swiftly along," Harry said.

"I only hope I don't screw it up," Sirius said. "This is late enough in the year that there's mostly just revision left, McGonagall said, so the fact that I don't know anything about teaching probably won't be that big a problem."

"You know plenty about teaching," Harry said. "You graduated; you've watched people doing it for seven years."

"I'm not sure it works that way," Sirius said.

"It was enough for Professor Lupin," Harry said. "In fact, it's as much as any of our Defence professors have had, except Quirrel, and he wasn't exactly the gold standard."

"Because he had Voldemort on the back of his head?" Sirius asked.

"That too," said Harry, "but even aside from that, he just wasn't a very good teacher. I don't think anyone except Hermione learned much that year."

"Speaking of which, how's Tonks?" Sirius asked.

Harry blinked, then shook his head. "She's a good teacher," he said, "we've learned plenty. She's as good as Professor Lupin or fake Moody were. I'm just surprised to hear her called that. She has a really thorough separate personality for Llywarch; she has different mannerisms and moves differently and even has a different sense of humour."

Sirius shrugged. "You'd expect someone who's been disguising herself for her entire life would know how to make it convincing, but she's still the same person."

"Call her Llywarch anyway," Harry said. "You need to keep her cover. This makes, what, four Order members here?"

"It makes sense," said Sirius. "It keeps us centralised; we can respond quickly, if Voldemort makes a move on Hogsmeade; and we can try to influence graduates away from him. Failing that, at least we'll mostly get a good idea of which ones will join him. There aren't many who don't take any of Defence, Transfig, or Potions to O.W.L. and N.E.W.T."

"You should try to get Flitwick on side," Harry said. "Everyone likes Charms."

"'Try' being the operative word," Sirius said. "He's not interested. He'll defend Hogwarts if the castle itself is attacked, but McGonagall and Dumbledore have both said that getting him to do anything more was completely futile. Which is a real shame, because a lot of Ravenclaws went over to the other side last time."

Transfiguration lessons therefore became quite fun, much more so than under the strict Professor McGonagall. Sirius was energetic, could always think of alternate ways of tackling a problem, and, best of all, almost never assigned written homework because he couldn't be bothered marking it. Instead, he gave regular practical tests and exhorted his students to actually practise the relevant magic in lieu of writing essays about it.

Herbology classes, on the other hand, went slightly downhill. A Berserker got Sprout, and one Patricia Stonewall was hastily hired to replace her. The new Professor Stonewall was a plump, freckled young woman who'd graduated the previous year, who had tried to begin a business cultivating rare potions ingredients. As everyone in the school soon knew, the Greengrass family had mercilessly crushed it with their market monopoly. Stonewall knew the material well enough, but was prone to stuttering badly and forgetting incantations, leading to one memorable occasion when Neville had to rescue her from a Venemous Tentacula, earning thirty points for Gryffindor.

Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, was given the role of Head of Hufflepuff. This worked quite well as almost all Hufflepuffs of third year and above took Muggle Studies and knew and respected her. Less ideally, McGonagall, swamped by administrative busywork, abdicated her position as Head of Gryffindor, and gave it to Professor Trelawney.

"Oh, no," Hermione said sadly. "Why couldn't it have been Professor Vector?"

"Who?" Harry asked.

"The woman who's taught me Arithmancy for the past three years," said Hermione, missing Harry's sarcasm.

"Because no-one except you has more than a passing idea of who she is," Harry spelt out. "Even outside our year, do any Gryffindors take Arithmancy?"

"Maybe," Hermione said evasively. "How about Professor Sinistra, then."

"I'd say to look on the bright side," said Harry, "if I could think of one. Er … at least it wasn't Binns?"

Hermione considered this. "Hmm … no, I think I'd still prefer him. He may be dead, but at least he knows something about something."

Fortunately, Trelawney minimised her involvement in day-to-day affairs, leaving them to deal with their schoolwork in peace. It piled up rapidly and soon all the fifth-years were buried in it, spending almost every waking moment practising difficult charms or writing long essays. On top of this, Hermione wheedled Harry into continuing with their Occlumency dancing and Legilimency because, as she pointed out, his first live fire use didn't get all the information he'd wanted. Harry was astonished at Hermione's resourcefulness; not only was she taking one subject more than him, and Arithmancy was by common consensus the hardest elective offered, but she also had prefect duties, and her homework was always finished well ahead of time and perfect.

"You wouldn't happen to have another Time-Turner, would you?" he asked her.

"Never again," she said, shivering.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Time travel sounds cool. If I knew they were on offer, I would have taken Muggle Studies and Runes to get one."

"Daily time travel and circadian rhythms don't mix," Hermione said. "I had to try polyphasic sleep to get around that. Did you know that polyphasic sleep doesn't actually work? _I do_."

March turned into April, and the only thing to disrupt their ever-intensifying schedule were occasional reports of DMLE raids on Death Eater safe houses. The _Daily Prophet_ ran articles listing assets seized and occasional arrests.

_Isn't this a problem?_

_What, the raids? Yes, but not a fatal one. They've only hit the painfully obvious places like Malfoy Manor, and I'm hardly thick enough to stay there. They haven't caught anyone or anything indispensible. They're not going to find me or my inner circle while we're hiding and rehearsing._

_How can you be sure? Dumbledore's got the ICW on side, along with the DMLE; it looks like they're putting the whole of Britain through a fine tooth comb._

_Shall we assume I can cast obscuring enchantments equal to or greater than your parents tried?_

_What, you're relying on literally the last spell that failed during the last war?_

"_Or greater than". Believe me: no-one is going to find us until the time of our choosing. Also, the Killing Curse backfired later than Fidelius._

_Isn't that still your signature spell?_

_Not any more. I can take a hint._

When he got out of intensive care, Snape became uncharacteristically nice to Harry, going so far as to entirely ignore him in lessons. Harry assumed this was because they'd fought shoulder-to-shoulder, and, as Hermione could attest from first year, it's hard to hold onto enmity after such things; no matter the cause, his marks shot up, putting him behind only Hermione and Davis. Hermione was ecstatic about this. Snape and Davis certainly didn't care.

Llywarch lost a lot of respect among the Gryffindors for hiding during the attack; by contrast, the Ravenclaws mostly seemed jealous that they hadn't thought of it. In any case, her final unit of last-gasp tactics, including Shield Charms, Smoke Charms, and the double-edged Blinding Flash Jinx, proved quite popular. Their final test was to hold out against her attacks for a full minute, with bonus points if they lasted an extra minute with her going all-out. Everyone except Lavender passed the first part. Hermione, Kevin and Neville were the only ones to pass the second.

"That was brilliant, Neville," Harry said. He'd been taken out by a surprise Blinding Flash followed by a precise Jelly-Legs Jinx.

"Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin, Oh Merlin," said Neville, shaking.

"Good work," said Hermione, shaking Kevin's hand. "I didn't realise you knew how to duel."

"Tracey likes sparring; she's taught me a few tricks," he said modestly. "I can't match half her attacks, but I've had plenty of practice avoiding them."

April faded into May. The last Quidditch match was played, between Ravenclaw, who fielded a hasty reserve Seeker, and Gryffindor, which was only able to field a full team when Ginny roped one of her friends who could barely fly onto the team. It was a miserable spectacle, as Gryffindor had only competent Chasers and Seeker, and the Ravenclaw Beaters broke their plays time and again with well-coordinated Bludgers to beat McLaggen. Eventually Ginny salvaged the match by catching the Snitch, giving a rare tie at 170 points all. Unfortunately, Slytherin was so far ahead in the tournament with their straight wins that they took the Quidditch Cup.

"Snape didn't even have to cheat to win the House Cup this year," Harry said morosely.

"Not to undermine House spirit," said Hermione, "but I think we have more important things to worry about right now."

"You mean the war?" Harry asked.

She was reading through a book on different breeds of Pegasi. "And our O.W.L.s. I mean, those will affect what subjects we can take next year, and then our entire careers, won't they?"

Opposing the Ministry's attacks on Voldemort's forces came infrequent, minor raids on Muggles, which didn't bother anyone very much except for Muggle-borns, and sightings of giants, banshees and other Dark creatures, which prompted a string of hysterical letters to the _Daily Prophet_. Even more ominously, the Dementors left Azkaban. Dumbledore countered by drastically increasing the human security; Voldemort laughed this off, saying that only fear of Dumbledore and Fawkes was enough to stop him from blasting it open tomorrow.

_Why are you allowing the attacks on Muggles?_

_Because my Death Eaters are going stir crazy, and the foosball table just isn't cutting it any more. In all seriousness, they've been cooped up under cover for months, and they don't feel like we're making any real inroads. They don't have my patience, but we need them for now, so I'm letting them vent steam in the only way they'll accept which doesn't kill anyone. As I say, they're minor raids, harassment rather than murder._

May faded into June. The wizarding world's terror of the Marionette Man shifted into confidence in Dumbledore: there hadn't been an attack in three months, and people were willing to believe his security measures had paid off. Harry was inclined to grouse about this, but with the exams upon them, he no longer had time.

Practical examiners came to Hogwarts from the Ministry to conduct the exams. Harry thought he did quite well in Charms, on the first Monday. Herbology the day after was slightly worse, but Transfiguration on Thursday was definitely a pass, maybe even EE. He had been dreading Potions ever since McGonagall had told him it was required for Aurors and that Snape demanded Outstanding to enter his N.E.W.T. class, but the exams weren't actually that bad. The practical went fine, and the theory was no worse than those of Charms and Arithmancy. He was pretty sure his answers wouldn't poison anyone, and, as Snape often said, especially when Neville was within earshot, any potion you can walk away from was a good potion.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was straightforward; he wasn't confident of an O by any means, but he certainly didn't fail, unlike Theodore Nott, whose spectacularly botched Obscurement Charm left a burning afterimage on Harry's retinas. Astronomy was middling; Divination was not. He'd lost most of his enthusiasm for Care of Magical Creatures when Hagrid had not shown up and then been found dead, and this was reflected in his exam, in which he thought he'd be lucky to scrape a pass. History was the final exam. Despite Hermione's best efforts and a pile of notes over three feet high, Harry was quite sure he failed that one.

That night, in spite of everything, a large party was thrown in Gryffindor, in which several N.E.W.T. students smuggled in Firewhisky and bribed the O.W.L. students with Butterbeer. Almost the entire House was in high spirits: exams were over, the war with Voldemort was going well, and the Marionette Man had shown neither hide nor hair in months.

"All right, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Hm?" said Harry. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about … you know. Life."

Hermione met his eyes and nodded, barely. She was just as nervous; she didn't even tell off the students who were drinking. Sirius had mentioned to Harry that Dumbledore was planning to visit the castle tomorrow to give an end-of-year speech. Apparently he wasn't planning to advertise the Order of the Phoenix outright, but was likely to exhort the graduating seventh-years to join the Ministry, particularly the DMLE. Harry had told Voldemort this; Voldemort confirmed that he had arranged the attack for that day.

This was his last night before the final battle. It took him a long time to get to sleep.


	20. You Catch More Flies

The sky was clear; it was one of the first really lovely days of June. Most of the students spent the morning soaking up sunlight; some of the younger Ravenclaws paired off with Slytherins for a casual game of Quidditch against Gryffindor and the Hufflepuffs. Others skipped stones around the Lake. Harry, by contrast, paced back and forth in his dorm like an angry, caged lion.

Neville wandered in after a while. "Hullo, Harry," he said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes I'm fine," Harry snapped, "just…" It occurred to him that he might want some plausible deniability later, and being tense for no reason immediately before an attack he shouldn't have known about beforehand wouldn't exactly be conducive to that. "I'm kind of worried about Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. I'm not at all sure I passed either of them. And then History was pretty terrible too. I'm just panicking that I might have failed all three. Can you imagine Hermione if I did?"

Neville winced. "Yes. Are you two, you know, an item? I mean, I haven't seen you going on, I don't know, trips to typical date areas, but you do hang out together most of the time, but then again you always do that … well, you both and, well, before the attack…"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah. As to whether we're an item…" Hermione always liked hugging him and any other physical contact, often leaning against him while reading or holding hands between classes, but she hadn't pushed for anything more or even suggested it, and he couldn't think of any way to ask without risking awkwardness. "I really don't know, but I don't want to let her down, either way. You know that enthusiastic look she gets, like she's hopeful that someone else will really be into the material, like she's finally found a kindred spirit?"

"Yes," said Neville. "A little bit of me dies every time she looks at me like that, because I can never understand what she's talking about or why she cares."

Harry nodded. "I think she's accepted by now that I won't be getting straight Os like she will, but I'd rather not completely muff it."

Neville nodded. "You'll be fine," he said. "You always were the best after her. She can't expect better than that."

Harry stretched. "I hope so. Come on, lunch should be on soon."

"I heard Dumbledore's showing up today, to give some speech and try to recruit people to the fight against You-Know-Who," said Neville.

"Sounds great," said Harry.

They went downstairs into the common room, where they found Hermione draped along a couch with a wet cloth over her forehead, a book in her lap for a change.

"Are you coming to lunch?" Neville asked her.

"No thanks," she said. "I have a headache; I don't feel up to the noise."

"Do you want me to help you to the hospital wing?" Harry asked sympathetically.

She gave a weak smile. "I don't need magical healing for a headache. I've just been stressing out too much. I'll be fine in a few hours. I'll visit the kitchens if I get too hungry."

"If you've been stressed," Harry said, "possibly reading – what's this, a postgraduate Healer textbook – isn't the best thing for your headache."

"Heresy," said Hermione.

So Harry and Neville went on down by themselves.

"I'll tell you what," said Neville, "I don't know whether she's with you or not, but I'm glad Hannah's my girlfriend."

"How is she, by the way?" asked Harry, who paid the Hufflepuffs minimal attention even during their shared Herbology classes.

"Oh, she's fine. She was in Saint Mungo's for a while after the attack, but nothing permanent for her. But she's so much more easygoing than Hermione. She relaxes by dozing in front of the fire with a mug of hot chocolate."

"As opposed to trying to teach herself magic most seventh-years think is impossible," Harry said.

Lunch was excellent as ever. Great roasts, vegetables and chips were strewn across the tables. Dumbledore was already at the head table, along with a complement of security wizards. Fawkes rode his shoulder. _He's here. Shall we go?_

_People may still be arriving. Wait until the speech starts._

Harry didn't taste a mouthful of lunch, not that he ate much. He wasn't sure he could keep it down, and in any case, fighting on an empty stomach is never a good idea.

Around him, Lavender and Parvati gossiped happily about a boy in the year above who had been seen courting a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl. It was all Harry could do not to snap at them for being insipid.

"I won't be sorry to see the holidays start," said Seamus, who had eventually gotten out of hospital. "This has been a right dog of a year. I'd rather have my legs shattered again than have to deal with that much homework again."

"I hope seventh year isn't any worse," Neville said with feeling.

"Don't see how it could be," said Seamus.

Harry went through his Occlumency meditation exercises once, twice, three times.

Finally, the dishes were cleared away, and Dumbledore took the podium. The room went quiet to watch.

_He's starting. We're go._

_I've just given the orders. Once he gets here, don't use this link; it would distract me._

Harry reached into an inner pocket, extracted a strip of parchment, and tore it in half; an identical, Protean-linked strip currently in Hermione's possession spontaneously fell apart. In London, a switch was thrown in the Floo Network Authority's network, and a fire begun in three separate parts of the tent village.

"Good afternoon, students of Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "It pleases me to return here after my long absence, dealing with endless meetings and paperwork, to a place of learning; my true calling.

"Exams are now done and dusted, I believe, and many of our older students will be considering just what to do now. As at the end of last year, our world is under clear and present threat. I speak, of course, of Voldemort." Shivers rippled through his audience. "While he has not yet had the same impact as during the last war, he remains at large, gathering allies, and when he wages war on the civilised world in earnest, the Light will need every able wand at its defence. I therefore urge–"

There came a crackle of static, and Lavender's radio came to life, manipulated by Hermione's Protean Charm on Harry's radio. Unnoticed, the tuning knob twisted to a channel usually left idle; no-one outside that room would hear it.

"_Miss Brown_!" snapped Professor McGonagall.

"I didn't touch it!" said Lavender, pulling it over and reaching for the off switch, but then she actually heard the program.

"– Filandra reporting from Brighton Tower," it said in a familiar but nervous voice, "together with two, uh, unexpected guests: Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and, ah, You-Know-Who."

"Thanks, Meri," came the familiar serpentine voice. "Call me Voldemort."

_Dolores Umbridge? What? She wasn't part of the plan._

_An opportunity arose, she's wanted to backstab Dumbledore for months, and what part of 'don't use this link' didn't you get?_

"So, er," came Filandra's voice, plainly terrified, "er, V – Vol – could I just call you, I don't know, Vee?"

"By all means," Voldemort replied affably.

"Vee," Filandra repeated, "you, er, wanted to talk about something?"

"My resurrection," Voldemort said. "After I died in Godric's Hollow all those years ago, I was discorporated. I had experimented with magics to prevent my true death in the case that my body was destroyed; the details are rather technical. After the incident involving Harry Potter, I was reduced to what you might think of as a sort of wraith.

"I was resigned to a permanent ghostlike existence, until one year ago, when I was revived in a Dark ritual. One perpetrated by one Albus Dumbledore."

_What?!_

_It's a good story, and NOT WHILE I'M TALKING!_

Shutters slammed down around Voldemort's mind.

"Wait," said Filandra, "_Dumbledore_? But, I thought he was the first one to say you were back."

"Of course," said Voldemort, "because he was there. He hoped to use me as a bogeyman to terrify the populace into accepting him as Minister for Magic. I refused. We duelled, and I escaped with what supporters I could find. But then, he didn't have a credible threat against the wizarding world to exploit. He had to make a new one. The media's been calling him … the Marionette Man. But his real name is Nigrus Dumbledore."

The Great Hall was in uproar by now. Dumbledore was conferring with the head of his security detail, as well as professors McGonagall, Snape, Black and Llywarch.

"He's at Brighton Tower now," said Dumbledore. "He wouldn't broadcast so brazenly for fear of the DMLE, so they must be distracted. Minerva, contact them and request reinforcements. Sirius, summon the Order. Severus, maintain channels of communication here; it may be a feint. Morgaine, find the battle but do not engage; there is undoubtedly more at foot here. I'll be back immediately, should I survive."

"Where are you going?" asked McGonagall.

"I'm the vanguard," said Dumbledore, and he and Fawkes vanished in a flash of fire.

The adults headed toward Professor Flitwick's office, which was the nearest with a fireplace.

"Oh, speak of the devil," came Voldemort's voice. "So good of you to join us. Ladies, gentlemen, if you please?"

There came a cacophony of incantations and the crackle of powerful Dark magic. Lavender's radio sparked and went dead.

The Hall erupted in arguments. Snape stood up and snapped his fingers, and silence fell.

Harry matched him and pulled his Firebolt out of his purse. "I'm _not_ missing this."

Snape stared. "Potter, if you do not sit down at once, I shall see you expelled."

"Then I've got _nothing to lose_," said Harry. He swung a leg over his broom's handle, took off, kicked against one wall, and shot outside through a window.

The air raid siren wailed. This time, black clouds issued not only from the Astronomy Tower, but also from the fence, spreading so quickly Harry had no chance to avoid them. He narrowed his eyes to try to see them more clearly, then did a double-take. They were actually swarms of Bludgers.

About twenty came at him head-on, with more above and to either side. Not for nothing had he been the youngest Seeker in a century; he corkscrewed through the first wave, dived low to the ground to keep them from blindsiding him from below, weaved around a dozen more, passed the fence and the Anti-Disapparition perimeter, and took one the side. He felt his arm snap.

But he was past the cloud and moving faster; he accelerated away from Hogwarts, to Hogsmeade, and found Honeydukes. He held his Firebolt in his limp right hand, and pushed the door open. A portly man was sitting at the counter, going over pay stubs, and looked up at the bell.

"Good afternoon. Say, is that arm alright?"

"Sorry!" said Harry, and rushed over to the empty fireplace. "I'll pay you for this later, but there's no time. _Incendio_." Like most wizarding buildings, Honeydukes had a bowl of Floo powder over its fireplace; Harry took a swipe and threw it into the fire. "_Temporary gate code heron_."

He span through the gate and stepped out of a bonfire on a beach. Unlike at Hogwarts, a powerful thunderstorm was raging; a conjured tent kept the rain out of the fire. Three Death Eaters stood watch; one tore off her mask on seeing him, revealing herself to be Atramenta Alliluyev, the Healer.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you weren't part of the plan."

"As if anyone would believe I'd stay at Hogwarts when precious Dumbledore was in danger," Harry said.

Alliluyev drew her wand and ran it along his arm. "You've broken this."

"I noticed," said Harry. "Where's the battle?"

There came a blue-and-green explosion, a few hundred yards away, visible even through the heavy rain.

"Give me a minute before you do anything dumb," Alliluyev said. She waved her wand in a Greek key border pattern, and Harry's bones jolted. He cried out, but then they knitted together.

"Huh," he said, flexing it. "That was faster than Pomfrey usually does it."

"Well, I am a pureblood," Alliluyev said.

"That must be it, clearly," said Harry. He straddled his broom and took off again.

Closer to, the lighthouse was in bad shape. The top half had been blasted off, and it was on fire, despite being stone and rained on. A dead giant lay beside it, clutching an axe larger than most cars, partly buried under rubble. Red and green light flashed from the hole in the roof.

Harry flew up, over, and landed, spinning his Firebolt away and into his purse and drawing his wand in a single motion. Dumbledore was in the centre of the building, levitating and surrounded by rotating stone blocks; Fawkes hovered over his head. Unmasked Death Eaters surrounded him, firing Cruciatus and Killing Curses; the stone blocks caught almost all, and Dumbledore dodged the rest. Unmoving Death Eaters lay around the room, as did what looked like two vampires. Umbridge, Filandra, and the other employees were nowhere to be seen

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

"Harry," said Dumbledore incredulously.

Behind him, Bellatrix Lestrange took a sucker shot at his back; Fawkes flashed, and Dumbledore shifted two feet to the right. The curse hit a loose brick and knocked it off the tower.

"_Stupefy_," Harry replied. The stunbolt flew under Dumbledore's guard, ricocheted into the ground, and dissipated.

"Oh, brilliant," said Voldemort, "as if he of all people isn't covered in body shields. Use some _real_ firepower, like so," and he cast his acid rain spell.

Dumbledore spun, conjured a glassy shield, and dodged two Cruciatus curses from behind. His Occlumency must have given him perfect spatial awareness, because attacks from behind never seemed to faze him. He waved his wand, and a pile of bricks agglomerated into a golem.

Bellatrix and Dolohov rolled backward and hit it with coruscating blue curses from either side; both were absorbed without effect. Voldemort turned and brought his wand down with a vicious slashing motion; lightning flashed, and the golem fell to pieces.

Dumbledore locked eyes with Harry. _Harry, what are you doing?_

_Getting revenge._

Dumbledore twirled his wand like a baton, and two discs of fire appeared about his head; they arced toward the nearest Death Eaters, who dived for cover. Four more Cruciatuses splashed off his stone shields.

_Harry, you've fallen deep into darkness to side with a Dark Lord against me of all people! Withdraw and we will talk your grievance over without violence._

_This isn't about me. It's about Hermione Granger!_

Voldemort hit one of Dumbledore's blocks with a Blasting Curse and blew it to smithereens; Dumbledore Transfigured the shrapnel into glass shards and shot them straight back. Voldemort dropped to the ground and conjured a shield to absorb most of them, but the remainder still tore into his flesh.

_It's about everyone who has and will die. It's about Penelope Clearwater, and the violence to her!_

Voldemort's voice sounded in his head. _If you're trying to distract him, could you tone it up a bit?_

Nikolaus Stropolos appeared at Dumbledore's side, swinging a staff in his off hand. It connected with one of Dumbledore's blocks and Transfigured it to ash; Dumbledore spun his wand and hit him in the chest with a burst of fire, swatting him off the tower.

_Penelope Clearwater?_ thought Dumbledore. _You mean … Voldemort's been telling you tales._

_Are you going to tell me he was lying?_

Voldemort's snake reared up out of nowhere and sank its fangs into Dumbledore's off hand. Dumbledore pointed his wand and, with a sound like a gunshot, blew Nagini in half. Fawkes swooped down and rest his head against the puncture wounds.

_It is possible to mislead by telling selective truths._

_What, you 'had' to kill her?_

_You have no idea of how precarious the balance of power is!_

"Hey, Dumb," Bellatrix called. "How _far_ can those rocks go? _Crucio_!"

Her wand was pointed at Harry. He froze for a moment too long to dodge it.

There was a flash, and Fawkes materialised in its path. He gave a keening cry as it connected.

"Fawkes!" shouted Dumbledore.

"_Avada kedavra_," said Dolohov. The jet of green shot out and hit Fawkes, and then there was only a shrivelled hatchling. Dumbledore repeated Voldemort's earlier vertical slash, and a tongue of lightning hit Dolohov.

"He's immobilised!" cried Voldemort. "Code Princess, now!"

As one, the Death Eaters reached into Undetectably Extended pouches within their robes, pulled out fluffy pink earmuffs, and jammed them on their heads. A skeletally thin woman with green skin and long black hair stepped up from behind a pile of rubble.

"Eyaah," she shrieked, "arraaaa_aaghreeeeeYEEEEAAAHHH_–"

Harry fell to the floor and slammed his hands over his ears before the banshee's scream could kill him.

Dumbledore conjured a vacuum around himself to block the sound, then blasted her. Lucius Malfoy, still wearing the incongruous pink earmuffs, conjured a net to gather up Dumbledore's defensive stones.

_Did Voldemort tell you that the sacrificers were around long before I was born, and harvested hundreds of lives apiece each year for their experiments? Yes, I sacrificed like them, but only to become powerful enough to force them to stop!_

_Well, nice work, because Cho Chang was taken anyway!_

Dumbledore lifted his wand, and another five stone blocks rose up to replace the ones the Death Eaters had knocked out.

_They've reduced their take from thousands between them to barely a dozen per year. Without me forcing them to stay moderate, there would be chaos!_

_Then arrest them! A dozen per year is a dozen too many!_

Two Death Eaters Harry didn't recognise attacked from the right with synchronised Cruciatus beams; one connected and Dumbledore yelled for a moment, before the floor collapsed from under the attacker, interrupting the curse. Voldemort pressed the attack with another lightning strike, even as Bellatrix, Malfoy, and four other Death Eaters circled and threw more Cruciatus and Killing Curses. Dumbledore levitated a pile of rubble; it absorbed the attacks and disintegrated.

_It's not that simple! Even I am not good enough to defeat five other sacrifice-powered sorcerers at once!_

_Have you TRIED?_

An elegant black shape rose up over the side of the tower: a witch on a broomstick. She dropped the broom and readied her wand. The battle stopped for a moment as the combatants sized up the new arrival.

"Sorry, boss," she said to Dumbledore, "but you looked like you needed a hand. Reinforcements are ten minutes away."

"Oh, hello, cousin," said Bellatrix. "Still no fashion sense, I see."

"Give me a break," Tonks replied. "It's hard to coordinate for more than one body at a time. _Stupefy_."

Bellatrix raised a gloved hand; it flashed as the stunbolt splashed against it, without effect. "Perhaps," she bantered casually, "but I'd expect a Metamorphmagus to have better fashion sense. Black isn't your colour at all. You should try red, _sectumsempra_!"

"_Accio Nymphadora_," said Dumbledore, and the young Auror flew into his grasp, avoiding the curse. He let her down gently and turned to face Voldemort once more. "Stay within the stones, and they should protect you from their curses."

"Right," said Tonks. "Don't worry, I've got your back. _Avada kedavra_."

Her wand, directly between Dumbledore's shoulder blades, flashed green. He fell to the ground, limp. The bewitched stones crashed to the floor.

There was a moment's quiet, broken only by the drumming rain.

"What," said Harry. He stood up painfully; he'd banged his knee earlier without noticing it.

"Yes," said Tonks. "_Yes_! Hahaha! I can't believe it! Why does no-one ever suspect the Defence professor? This is, like, the fifth time you've had an infiltrator in the position!"

Voldemort pulled the cursed kettle from the Black Hole out of his robes and removed the lid. A stream of what looked like white vapour poured from Dumbledore's body into the kettle. When the last of it was in, Voldemort slammed the lid on and stowed the kettle.

"You," Harry said, "you've been on his side the entire time?"

"He first recruited me a few months after he revived," said Tonks. She walked over and shook Bellatrix' hand. "I understand I joined for the same reason you did," she said with a meaningful look, "but he was never as confident of your loyalty as mine, so he never told you about me."

"I _thought_ it was odd the Death Eaters didn't kill or abduct you when we raided the Ministry," Harry said. "And that it was embarrassing how easily you got yourself Stunned at the High Gala. So you were his other spy in Hogwarts and the Order … but I told, uh, our Lord about you when I first found out you were Llywarch, and he didn't already know."

"It would have been a giveaway if I hadn't feigned interest," said Voldemort. "_Accio wand_." Dumbledore's wand flew into his hand. "Now, what have we here … this is the emblem of the Deathly Hallows. It couldn't be…"

Castlewright climbed up from the lower levels. "You're done, my Lord?" he asked. "Excellent. _Exire_." His Anti-Disapparition Jinx lifted.

"My Lord?" said Malfoy. Even after the rain and battle, his hair was still perfect. "The DMLE is coming; we should evacuate our wounded before they arrive."

"We should be gone entirely," said Voldemort, still examining his new wand in close detail. "There is no profit in fighting them as we are now. No, remember phase two of the plan. Everyone who can Side-Along, take a fallen Death Eater, dead or wounded. Fall back to position Slingshot, then proceed to–"

"_Avada kedavra_," said Umbridge, directly behind Voldemort. Her wand flashed green. He fell.

"_NO_!" cried Bellatrix, and a matte black curse shot from her wand. Umbridge darted forward, snatched up the Elder Wand, and Disapparated; Bellatrix' curse hit a stone block and ate holes into it like those of Swiss cheese. "No! Follow her!"

"Bellatrix!" Malfoy snapped. "She's the Senior Undersecretary. That makes her acting Minister. The entire DMLE will be guarding her now."

"She cannot get away with–"

"The Dark Lord will deal with her as he sees fit," Malfoy said. "And unlike last time, we all know the resurrection ritual now. He'll be back within the week. Obey his orders!" He strode over and slung Voldemort's body over his shoulder. "Someone take Dumbledore, too. Potter, Black," he added to Harry and Tonks, "stay here and think up a story. Keep your covers as long as possible; no need to reveal yourselves even now. Everyone, _move_!" And with that, he Disapparated. There was a flurry of pops, as the rest of the ambush vanished, leaving Harry in the rain with Tonks and the dead banshee and snake.

"Okay, I think we should go with mostly the truth," said Tonks. She Transfigured two bits of debris into umbrellas and gave one to Harry. "We showed up to help Dumbledore; one of the Death Eaters hit him with a Killing Curse from behind; the others grabbed the bodies and Disapparated."

"What if Umbridge testifies under Veritaserum?" Harry asked. "What was Voldemort even thinking, bringing her along?"

"If she has as many Boggarts in her closet as most politicians of her rank do, she wouldn't touch any sort of truth magic with a twelve-foot broomstick," said Tonks. "And he probably thought she'd help against Dumbledore. She's obviously the double-dealing ambitious type, and she was happy to bad-mouth him before he got here, from that broadcast. I expect Voldemort planned to use her to gain a little legitimacy, only she double-crossed him too."

Harry shook his head.

"So you were a Death Eater," he said. "Are you Marked?"

Tonks shifted shape into a curly-haired girl of age about twelve and pulled up her sleeve, showing off her Dark Mark. "Of course, I didn't get this on my natural form. It'd be a bit obvious there, don't you think?" She shifted back. "Really, I'm surprised no-one guessed I was on the other team. I mean, aside from that I'm maternally Black and already a double agent, there was no way Voldemort would have overlooked the strategic value of a Metamorphmagus. If he hadn't recruited me, he would have Imperiused or abducted me at the very least."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I can't begin to think how many ways you could use that to … wait, can I see that last shape again for a moment?"

Tonks obliged.

"I'm sure I've seen her before," said Harry, "but why would you have taken that shape in front of me, when you would have risked revealing your Mark?"

"If I was panicked, I might have just taken this one at random," said Tonks. "If it was on my mind, if I didn't have time to find a similar shape…"

"No, now I remember," Harry said slowly. "That's the same girl I saw hiding in the locker after we fought the Marionette Man at Hogwarts."

"Uh," said Tonks.

"And you can't take any arbitrary shape," said Harry, "so you must have been her. And you didn't reveal yourself to us then. In fact, you should have come out and hit the Marionette Man from behind beforehand, if only to protect me and Hermione, who were on your side. It wasn't that you were afraid of him; you'd even fought him before, at the Ministry. Or so we thought."

"Dammit," Tonks said bitterly. "Yeah, this is the real reason we didn't tell you about me earlier."

"Because I'd figure it out," said Harry. "Or Hermione would. It was you all along. Why?"

"Awhile ago, I think it was over Christmas lunch," said Tonks, "you remarked on how I can assume different personalities so easily. You asked what my real one was. I deflected the question then, but now that you know anyway…"

She stepped backward, out of brawling range, scrunched up her face, and shifted into the body of the Marionette Man.

"This," she said, in his screeching, grating voice, "this is my real personality." She switched back to her natural form. "If not a very comfortable body. I told you in Hogsmeade. I'm what's left after everything worth having has been taken away."

"_Avada kedavra_," said Harry. A jet of green light flowed into Tonks.

"You have _no idea_ how to cast that, do you," she said, completely unharmed.

"I don't even know the wand motion," Harry admitted, "but I assumed your robes had a Shielding Enchantment and anything less would just bounce off."

"Naturally," said Tonks. "No hard feelings. I would have tried to kill me too, in your shoes."

"Er," said Harry. "If you think it fair to try to kill you – why did you do it?"

"Let me tell you my story," said Tonks. "I am the daughter of a pureblood and a Muggle. They taught me that blood purity doesn't matter, and that the purists were just clinging to their blood because they had to have someone to feel better than. So when I received my admission letter, I went and befriended every Muggleborn I met, just to show the purebloods that I could be happy like that.

"And it worked. I was the happiest girl in the world with my friends. I developed a bubbly, bouncy personality. I studied hard, I got good grades, I was accepted into Auror training. And then, one by one, my friends disappeared without a trace.

"Dumbledore wanted a Metamorphmagus as much as Voldemort did and made sure to keep me from cracking up. He Obliviated me of my memories of friends. I didn't have any reason to resent him; I just had this vague feeling of loneliness. But I would have been a perfectly functioning person and member of his Order.

"But then Voldemort broke into my apartment and held me at wandpoint. He spent hours talking me over, telling me about the ritual, showing me photos of my old friends, restoring my memories. That day is what I expect I'd see if I met a Dementor. Learning about my old friends and how they all died.

"So, obviously, after that, I was _angry_. I wanted revenge, on Dumbledore and the other sacrificers. But, as you know, they're too powerful to attack on their own terms. I had to work with Voldemort to ambush them."

"But why the attacks on the innocent people?" Harry cried.

"Because people remember Voldemort from the last war," said Tonks. "They're not going to accept him or any of his followers as Minister, and if he doesn't control the DMLE, he can't kill the other sacrificers. The only way he could ever be accepted, even provisionally, would be if he displaced an even worse enemy. Hence the broadcast earlier: to tell people that the Marionette Man was working with Dumbledore. The plan was to attack until he was made Minister, then stop, and, after he was assassinated, get caught and give a false confession."

"That's insane," said Harry.

"If they tried to use Veritaserum on me," said Tonks, "Malfoy planned to make sure one of Voldemort's people gave the interrogation, by a script drawn up by a logomach. With well-written questions, I could have avoided incriminating Voldemort. Failing that, they could have used a False Memory Charm. If Umbridge witnesses against me, we might have to modify that plan, although I'm not sure what she'll do now."

"I think you're missing the point," said Harry. "How? How could you _do_ it?"

"I told you that at Hogsmeade, too," she said, and her voice cracked slightly. "My Muggleborn friends are all _dead_. My half-blood friends didn't do _anything_ to protect them, and they weren't Obliviated. They just didn't _care_. My victims would just stand back and watch their friends die, one by one, and never say a thing. I don't _care_ if that sort of person dies. And anyway, I've killed, what, seventy-five people? That's as many as the sacrificers have taken since you first came to Hogwarts. In five years of them all being dead, I'll have paid my blood debt off."

Harry just stared. His emotions roiled inside him, demanding he attack again., but an icy layer of calm, possibly reinforced by his Occlumency training, took control. There was no way he could beat her as they were now.

"How did you do it, then?" he asked instead. "There's a lot of things that don't add up."

"Fair enough," she said. "Let me see. First, I bought the Berserker Potion from the Greengrasses just after Voldemort approached me. They license it, you know. Then, one day, I heard Dumbledore mention he couldn't find a teacher for Defence, and Fudge planned to submit one of his underlings. I volunteered instead. It was perfect: I would make Fudge and Dumbledore both trust me, while I could spy on both and report everything to Voldemort.

"There was a teachers' orientation before term started. I smuggled a few pigs in, killed them, laced their bodies with Berserker Potion, and turned them both into time-delayed Portkeys, a spell which I'd brushed up on to teach the N.E.W.T. students. There was no mass teleport spell, just Portkeys split up inside the bellies of every Acromantula in the Forest. I left the castle grounds, assumed my best imitation of Arthur Weasley, and Apparated to Stonehenge and let myself be seen. After that, I morphed back into my native form so I'd have an alibi."

"You helped fight off the Acromantula," said Harry.

"The idea was never to wantonly kill people," said Tonks, "the idea was to frame Dumbledore. We figured he'd look as guilty regardless of how many bodies it produced.

"Back then, we'd planned to have me pretend to be a Weasley, because they're well-known to be in his pocket. However, I can't really look anything like any of them, even with the lensless glasses, and Arthur had enough standing and his alibi stood up in the court of public opinion, so we changed tack. Term started. On Voldemort's instructions, I brewed the Fiendsire Cerate and spread it around Hogsmeade in the early hours, before anyone was awake. Incidentally, the Potions N.E.W.T. you need to become an Auror really paid for itself this year.

"At that time, Voldemort was worried that you weren't really on his side. He hadn't given you or Hermione any hard proof of the rituals; logically, you should have thought he he made them up entirely to sucker you into getting him those Dark artifacts–"

"Speaking of which," said Harry, "why did he blackmail me into stealing those, rather than ask you?"

"Because of the prophecy," Tonks said. "He'd only heard the beginning, about a boy who had the power to kill the Dark Lord. Back then he hadn't heard the full thing, and thought maybe you were destined to kill him permanently. He wanted to know how far he could trust you, so as a test, he gave you what you thought was an important task but one which didn't really matter because I could have done it if you'd refused."

"He said he hadn't heard that part of the prophecy," said Harry.

"You catch more flies with honey than vinegar," said Tonks. "You would never have joined him so readily if you believed he tried to kill you as a baby, compared with if he could trick you into thinking you were collateral damage. I get the impression most of what he told you at the graveyard was fiction. But anyway.

"At Hogsmeade, I deliberately let you catch sight of me and follow me into a back ally, where I made oblique allusions to the sacrifices. I couldn't say it outright for fear Ron would report it to Dumbledore, but I made it obvious that they were real, to ensure your and Hermione's cooperation. And then, as at the Circus, I changed back to fight the fire, because I again didn't want to kill too many people for no reason and I wanted the alibi.

"I understand Voldemort then persuaded you the Marionette Man – lovely name, by the way – was Dumbledore's follower. In fact, the _Quibbler_ decided I was his son. I decided to go with it.

"The attack raised tensions between Dumbledore and Fudge, but they still didn't act against one another. That was annoying. So we waited again. Until Boxing Day, when I was scheduled to guard your prophecy, so Voldemort chose to stage his attack then. I let his Death Eaters Stun me. We'd originally planned to have it be a surgical operation, but then your little friends triggered the alarm, and security and the Order came.

"Sirius revived me, of course. I made a show of attacking the Death Eaters, then ran down an aisle, supposedly to flank them, but in reality so that I could morph and cause a distraction. I brought most of the room down on their heads, morphed back, and escaped in the confusion. For the benefit of you, Hermione and Neville, I took a perfunctory shot at the Death Eaters with a hex that would have bounced off their shielded robes; apparently the idiots dodged and got brained. Still, no harm done. I morphed back into my native form and helped the Order conjure a bubble to keep the roof off our heads, and took the slow way out.

"This was finally enough to get Fudge kicked out of office. I sent those nasty letters so that Dumbledore would be the only choice for replacement Minister, but that scumbag Scrimgeour seized power anyway. So then I began brewing another batch of Berserker.

"Obviously Hogwarts was the easiest target, since I live there, but I didn't want to risk killing you, so I waited until your attack on the Flamels' castle to move. I assumed you'd be stuck there all day, or that when you got back, you'd have the sense to escape back to Hogsmeade or fly or otherwise stay safe. But no, somehow you realised I'd be at the pitch."

"Why _were_ you there?" Harry asked. "You could have escaped long before."

"I had been hoping to convert Snape," said Tonks. "He's too competent to leave on the enemy's side. Just when the attack broke out, I tried to let him see me when in Marionette Man form. Obviously that's difficult to do without anyone else seeing you if you're in a stadium, and I don't think I managed, but I waited there just in case. And lo and behold, there he came. With company.

"I got his attention with a flashy curse and fell back to where you couldn't flank me. I'd hoped that he would use Legilimency on me. One side effect of being a Metamorphmagus is that I can't do real Occlumency, but after practising with Voldemort – after all, I was working with two hostile Legilimens – I did get the hang of forcing a reader's attack along specific channels. I usually feign a sunny disposition so I can bring that to the front of my mind and head off minor probes. I'd hoped Snape would try to read my mind, as then I could force him to see me chanting to my mirror 'my name is Nigrus Dumbledore', and remembering all my friends dying because of Dumbledore and the sacrificers. I'd hoped it would be enough to make him change sides.

"But, of course, that didn't happen. You read me instead, and Snape used Cruciatus, and Weasley Disarmed me. I was down for the count. I could maybe have escaped anyway, but he had my wand; you would have identified me easily by it, after you dispelled the basic Colour Changing Charm I put on it. I had to get my wand back."

"So you – triggered Ron bomb," said Harry. "What was that?"

"Well," said Tonks, "as you know, at the Ministry, when Ron got Stunned, Voldemort abducted him and tried to convert him too, because he was the single person likeliest to blow your and Hermione's covers. But he was either more loyal or more stupid than you two were, and refused to believe anything Voldemort said. So the Death Eaters hit him with a Depilatory Jinx, tattooed a passphrase-triggered Blasting Curse rune onto his scalp, force-fed him Hair Growth Potion to conceal it, and Obliviated him of everything. Voldemort insisted that the phrase be something memorable, unambiguous, and nothing that anyone might say by accident."

"Why didn't Voldemort just kill him then?" Harry asked.

"Killing him was never a priority," said Tonks. "No offence, but Ron was never really that important. No, it was a Blasting Curse because that would take out anyone standing next to him. We thought it was only a matter of time before you or someone else guessed about me; when that happened, a well-timed wandless explosion could easily have been enough to take out a few members of the Order and let me escape. It wasn't my idea, for what it's worth."

"You still used it," said Harry.

"In order to get my wand back and escape, yes," said Tonks. "But of course I didn't have that mystical mass teleport spell, so in reality I had to run and hide, and then morph into a student. I keep about thirty different disguises in my Extended bag at all times, of course, including the Hufflepuff tie. Then I went with you, and wandered off as soon as you all looked the other way.

"And then, today. I did plan to just watch, because I thought Voldemort's plan was sound, but then Dumbledore turned out to be stronger than he'd expected. So I took the opportunity.

"I think that's everything," she concluded, looking Harry in the eye. "So now, what are you going to do?"

_AN: If you review this and say anything about Tonks, could you please use spoiler tags? Some people read reviews before finishing chapters. Points to Aerialis for picking Tonks._


	21. Spread the Word

Harry met her gaze. "Why did you tell me all that?"

"Because," said Tonks, "even after everything I've done, you and I are still ultimately on the same side."

"You're joking," said Harry.

"We both want to stop the sacrificers," said Tonks. "After that, I'll happily submit to a court and answer for everything I've done."

Harry growled. That was exactly what Voldemort had promised of Wormtail.

"Or, I could expose you, and you can answer for it right now," he said.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Tonks asked. "I would be a real asset in the war against the sacrificers. You'll need all the help you can get; the remaining ones will probably band together and be even tougher than Dumbledore, and Merlin only knows what Umbridge will do now. And if you out me, Voldemort will turn on you. Where will you go, when the Order knows you tried to kill their leader? Heck, with Malfoy controlling the _Prophet_, most of the world will probably think you were the one who dealt the finishing blow."

"I'll pay for my own sins by myself," said Harry, "and if it means the Order and all my other friends desert me, then it'll be no more than I'll deserve. So be it."

"What about Cho?" said Tonks. "She's sort of a hostage right now. And then there's Hermione; if we reveal she was at the Ministry attack on our side, there'll be at least two factions after her blood, possibly as many as four."

Harry growled again. "Voldemort already manipulated me once by emotionally blackmailing me about a girl. I'm not going to let you lead me by the nose and kill another seventy people. Besides, Hermione's stronger than me. She can take care of herself, and as for Cho, we've rescued her before. Don't think I won't give an encore."

"If you just let me keep my cover until the sacrificers are dead, you'll get everything you want anyway," Tonks said. "They and I will face justice, you and Hermione will be safer, and–"

There was a flurry of pops, and a dozen red-robed Aurors appeared, wands out.

"Auror Tonks!" said one, a tall black man with a gold earring. "What are you doing here?"

"Auror Shacklebolt. I followed Dumbledore here," she said. "It was an ambush. Twenty Death Eaters and a few Dark Creatures. They overwhelmed him with numbers."

"Did you say Dumbledore's dead?" Shacklebolt said, and turned to Harry for confirmation.

Harry thought for a moment and made his decision.

He locked eyes with Tonks. "I'll give you fifteen seconds," he said quietly. "Run."

"What?" said Shacklebolt.

Tonks give a bitter smile and shrugged. "Good luck," she said. There was a crack, and she was gone.

Shacklebolt turned to Harry, questioning.

"She's the Marionette Man," Harry said. "She's been a secret agent working for Voldemort all along, and killed Dumbledore five minutes ago. And I…"

He looked down, folded his conjured umbrella, and cast it aside. The rain beat down on him. He squared his jaw and looked up.

"Voldemort manipulated me and one of my friends," he said. "We helped him coordinate this trap. I – I thought it was right, but – well, it isn't a confession if you try to excuse yourself."

The Aurors exchanged disbelieving looks.

"We'd better take you back to HQ so we can get a statement," one said at length.

"Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge is probably waiting for me," Harry said. "Shehe's the acting Minister now."

"Even a full Minister doesn't have the power to convict someone without a trial," the Auror said gently. "You're underage, I'm sure she'll understand."

Harry stared. "'Doesn't have the power to convict someone without a trial'?" he repeated. "Are you and I talking about the same Ministry here?"

"Er," said the Auror. "We do still need a formal statement."

"Find me at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I need to talk to a friend." With a pop, he was gone.

.. ... ...

When Harry returned to the castle, the students had been taken back to their respective Houses and the school was locked down. Harry was far past the point of letting that stop him, though, and flew into his dorm under Disillusionment and Obfuscation. Downstairs, he invisibly tugged Hermione's hand, leading her up to his dorm. Perhaps it was fortunate that she had few friends, because no-one objected to her leaving the crowd of anxious people in the common rooms.

In his dorm, she pulled off his hood and kissed him. He closed his eyes and pressed against her for a moment, then pushed her away.

"Hold that thought," said Harry once he got his breath.

"'Hold that thought'?" Hermione repeated.

"We need to talk about the attack first," he explained.

"Oh, that's true," she said. "You're an _idiot_.What were you _thinking_, flying off after them like that?!"

"Well, for one thing, it means I saw everything," he said, and he related the attack to her.

Somewhere along the way, she flopped down onto his bed and begun rubbing her temples.

"So, to summarise," she said when he finished, sitting up to look him in the eye, "both Dumbledore and Voldemort are dead, although the latter will probably regenerate soon. Dolores Umbridge, whom Lupin described as, quote, 'the second coming of Baba Yaga', is now Minister for Magic. Since the previous three were all either impeached or killed over the last six months, probably there won't be much competition for a while. She has the legendary Elder Wand, with which Dumbledore more than held his own against twenty Death Eaters. As Minister, she's likely to try the ritual soon and become stronger.

"Tonks was working for Voldemort as the Marionette Man. She got away _yet again_ and, since you dobbed her in, they're back to being enemies. I'm fairly sure you broke at least one law today, so the Ministry is likely to be after you too.

"Meanwhile, the sacrificers no longer have Dumbledore to worry about, so there's no telling what _they'll_ do, except quite likely go on abduction and killing sprees. The nearest thing we have to anyone who could stop them is Voldemort who, as previously noted, is both an enemy and currently dead.

"Have I missed anything?"

"No," said Harry, "I think that's pretty much it."

She flopped back onto his bed.

"Oh, no, wait," said Harry, "I'm probably expelled, too."

"You're WHAT?"

"Perspective, Hermione," Harry said.

"Schooling doesn't suddenly become 'not important any more' just because other things are bad!" she exclaimed.

"Can you haul me over the coals later?" Harry said. "Right now, we have to decide something urgently. Do we tell people about the ritual?"

She blinked. "Why is that urgent and why would we now?"

"Well, we didn't before, because then Dumbledore would have Obliviated and/or sacrificed both of us," Harry said, "but that's not an issue any more, and I think the remaining sacrificers won't believe that we don't know anything when it comes out we helped assassinate Dumbledore. On the other hand, we won't be able to un-tell everyone, and there might be a good reason to keep it secret I haven't thought of. It's urgent because four floors away is Madame Pince, and in about fifteen minutes she's going to find out that the one reason why she hasn't been allowed to sacrifice the entire school is now dead."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh dear," she said.

"And within five minutes of _that_, Ollivander will hear it too," said Harry, "and then the Flamels, and that's assuming Voldemort knew about all the sacrificers and was telling the truth. So: do we tell people, and what do we do about Pince?"

Hermione sat her chin on her hands and thought for a full minute.

"There are some potential problems," she said at last, "but if we don't tell people, we'll give the sacrificers a huge advantage. We'll probably meet with some scepticism, and I'm sure Voldemort and Umbridge will spin it to their advantages somehow, but I think it's worthwhile."

"Agreed," said Harry. "People have to be warned if they're to stand a chance against the Flamels and the others. And Pince?"

"What _can_ we do?" Hermione said. "If she's in Dumbledore's league and he fought off twenty Death Eaters, then all the teachers here together couldn't subdue her."

"You know," said Harry, "Voldemort tried taking Dumbledore head-on, and accomplished nothing until Tonks tried a subtler approach."

"What did you have in mind?" Hermione asked.

"I'm going to talk to her," he said.

"I notice you just used a singular pronoun," she said.

"Astute observation," Harry replied. "I'm prophesied to kill or be killed by Voldemort. Pince won't kill me."

"I'm not sure it's wise to rely on that," Hermione said. "History is littered with the bones of people who thought they could manipulate Fate."

"I promise I won't make a habit of it," said Harry, "but right now, I'll be less of a target than you."

"You will?"

"I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," he said. "People will notice if I suddenly vanish. You, on the other hand…"

"Am only a prefect and known by everyone in the year as the girl who skews the grading curve beyond all recognition," she said.

"Yes," said Harry, "and by not a single soul outside of this year and our own circles of friends."

Hermione frowned.

"Look. We need someone to convince people about the ritual," said Harry.

"True," Hermione admitted. She kissed him again. "Don't do anything rash, alright?"

"Who, me?" said Harry.

They held hands and descended the stairs. Gryffindor was packed with students trading ever-increasing rumours; there was a sudden hush when Harry came into sight, then people began clamouring his name.

"Good luck," Hermione said to Harry.

"You too," said Harry, and they parted. "Spread the word."

Professor Trelawney was at the far end of the room, and looked as though she was undecided what to do. Harry wordlessly pushed through the students in his path, making for the exit.

"_Sonorus_," said Hermione. "_People of Gryffindor, I have an important announcement to make, so I'd appreciate if you could all be quiet for a moment and listen, please. Don't mind Harry; he has something he needs to take care of. I said don't bother him! What I'm about to say is very important. There is a certain Dark ritual, in which the actor–_"

The portrait folded shut behind Harry.

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls as he descended on staircase after another and walked to the library. He flung the doors open.

Madame Pince was re-filing incorrectly shelved books; she looked up as he entered.

"Mr. Potter! You should be in Gryffindor Tower."

"I know about the ritual," he said without preamble.

"What ritual?" she asked.

"The same one Dumbledore and the Flamels use," Harry said. "The one required to produce the Philosopher's Stone."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Are you?" he said. "Because the teachers are coming here, and they look sure you do."

Her mouth set into a line.

"Really," she said.

"Dumbledore isn't here to protect you," said Harry. "So I thought I'd take the opportunity."

"How do you know about this?" Pince asked.

"It's a long story," he said.

"I see," she said.

"Are you thinking you can defeat them?" said Harry. "Maybe you can. But there's this one spell … how did it go? Oh, yeah. I'm pretty sure the incantation was 'pertoten flamans'."

Madame Pince stiffened.

"You wouldn't dare," she said.

"Who exactly do you think you're talking to?" he retorted. "Someone who _isn't_ already looking at probable expulsion and possible jail time?"

"No fifth-year could hope to control cursed fire," she said. "You'd burn up."

"The way I see it," said Harry, "either you could dispel it, in which case I've lost nothing, or you couldn't, in which case, my life for a sacrificer's is a pretty good trade."

"I can dispel it," she said. "But not enough to save all the books. And believe me, if you damage them, I shan't bother saving you."

"Since I don't have a chance by any other strategy, I'm willing to bet my life that you're bluffing," Harry said.

Pince glared at him.

"I want time to take my books with me," she said.

"The teachers are mere minutes away," said Harry. "You don't have that time. Look. Leave, disappear. I'll make sure the books are well-treated. I'll talk Professor Black into talking McGonagall into hiring a good librarian. But if I ever hear of you again, taking a single life for a sacrifice, I'll burn it all."

"You wouldn't," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I can still kill you now," Pince said.

"Even if you could do it before I got a few good fire spells off," said Harry, "someone's likely to notice if you kill the Boy-Who-Lived."

She glared.

"The longer you dawdle, the closer the teachers get," he said. "If they get here, they won't ask questions; they'll break out the Blasting Curses and Fiendfyre, and I'll help."

"Fine," she said. "T-treat them well."

"Hermione would hex me if I didn't," he said.

She walked over to a far window. It opened by itself; she floated out; it shut behind her. Harry slumped against a book shelf.

.. ... ...

After all that, the last few days of term passed in a blur. Harry told a pair of Aurors what had happened, without any lies or omissions, while Sirius, McGonagall and Snape listened.

"How can you be sure Dumbledore was one of them?" asked McGonagall, after the Aurors left.

"He admitted it during the battle," said Harry.

"So the Death Eaters all know about it, too," said Sirius.

"They didn't overhear," said Harry. "Voldemort does, but … I don't know. I think he has a personal grudge against the ritual. I don't think he'd allow them to perform it."

"He can be very persuasive," said Snape. "I do not doubt that that is precisely what he wanted you to believe."

"I don't know," said Harry.

"I do," Snape said. "The Dark Lord is the most charismatic person I have ever met. He persuaded both you and his Death Eaters that he was manipulating the other, despite both groups knowing he told the other the exact same thing. He did the same thing to acquire my loyalty during the former half of the first war. I would not be surprised if he took Miss Clearwater for his own use."

"I would," said Harry. "Dumbledore fought him and twenty others; he would have crushed Voldemort in a one-on-one. Therefore, Voldemort can't be too powerful."

"At least four more witches and wizards, all more powerful than You-Know-Who," said Sirius, lounging back in his chair and shutting his eyes with a wince. "Not good."

"Even so," said Snape, "do not underestimate him."

"What should we do now?" said Sirius. "It sounds like we can't fight the sacrificers and the Death Eaters at once."

"Hogwarts is likely to be a target for the sacrificers," said McGonagall. "We should send the students home."

"Minerva," said Snape, "with all due respect, you do not understand the first thing about strategy. To scatter would be to invite defeat in detail. The sacrificers want nothing more than for us to be divided and easy to pick off one by one, as do the Dark Lord's forces."

"So, what?" said Sirius. "You think we should hole up in here?"

"I think you understand even less," Snape said. "Given Tonks' defection, the Black Hole is no longer secure. This is our only defensible position."

"Abandoning the rest of Britain," said Sirius.

"Providing sanctuary for the rest of Britain," Snape corrected. "The Ministry, sacrificers and the Dark Lord are all more powerful than the Order. We have no choice but to hold this fortress; we certainly can't win the war in open battle as things currently stand."

They sat and thought for a minute.

"We'll need to persuade everyone we can to come to Hogwarts or flee the country," said McGonagall.

"Use the owl fleet to send letters?" Sirius suggested. "Put ads in the _Prophet_?"

"A good start," said McGonagall, "but many people will require personalised persuasion."

"What did you have in mind?" asked Sirius.

.. ... ...

Students crowded onto the Hogsmeade platform, waiting for the Hogwarts Express. Neville was a little apart from them, talking seriously with Hannah. He gave Harry a smile and a wink. He hadn't held anything against him.

Lavender and Parvati were with Padma and a few other Ravenclaws, including Anthony, who was prodding at her radio with his wand, trying to repair it. They definitely avoided Harry's eye.

Sirius was with the other teachers. They were busy discussing strategy. No help there.

Pansy Parkinson was hanging off the arm of a Hufflepuff seventh-year, clearly trying to make Malfoy jealous. It didn't look to be working; Malfoy hadn't so much as glanced at her. He and Ginny were in a corner, bickering in low, heated voices. They would be back together by the end of the ride.

Crabbe and Goyle were now with Zabini and Nott. They were punching one another in the solar plexus, and seemed to be firm friends.

Daphne was with her little sister Astoria, sharing a private smile. She noticed Harry glancing at her, and her expression hardened. Since Tonks had said where she'd gotten the Berserker Potion, he'd been unbound by his promise to her and had told the Aurors about it. No doubt her family would buy its way out of any real punishment.

Kevin Entwhistle and some of his gang of Ravenclaws made their way over to Harry and Hermione.

"Hey," said Kevin. "Harry."

"Kevin," said Harry.

"I thought I should apologise," he said. "I've always assumed the worst about Gryffindors in general. Despite Hermione proving me wrong about a lot of the stereotypes." Hermione glowed. "The thing is, I always assumed being brave was just a polite way of saying someone was stupid. But, you … well, people say You-Know-Who can trick anyone. I don't know whether that's true. But I do know that most stupid people wouldn't be brave enough to admit it."

"You're new to this entire apology thing, aren't you," said Harry. "I can see why you and Hermione get along so well."

"True," Kevin admitted. "What I'm trying to say is, owning up to it, that was brave. That was a good thing to do. I have to respect that. I think it's more than I personally would be a good enough person to do. So I'm sorry for every time I've ever looked down on or been rude to or dismissed you or any other Gryffindor. I'm sorry for talking down to your friend, W– Ron. I think, in retrospect, maybe I was the stupid one."

"… Thanks," said Harry. "You don't need to apologise for that sort of thing, though, everyone thinks their House is the best."

"And if we really are the best, I shouldn't have made that mistake," said Kevin. "Anyway, good luck with your … er … aunt?"

"Honestly, I won't be too bothered if they refuse to go into hiding," said Harry. "If nothing else, anyone who does enough research to find her will have done enough research to know they couldn't blackmail me through them."

"He's mostly coming to help me with my parents," said Hermione. "I, er, might have left a few details out of my letters home; they might take a little persuading."

"Fair enough," said Kevin, and he and his friends waved them off and walked away to rehash their exams, much like Quidditch teams often rehashed matches.

"Thanks for this, by the way," said Hermione.

"I was going to be in the area anyway," said Harry.

"Because of the Dursleys."

"Yeah. Also, I'm going to see if I can't persuade some people in Diagon Alley to hide. And as long as I'm out of the castle, I might as well see if I can't find Cho Chang. It's my fault she's with the Death Eaters, after all."

"Sounds like you're going to stay busy this summer," said Hermione. "Need any help with that?"

"If you could help track Cho down, that'd be great," said Harry. "And I could do with someone watching my back. I heard the Ministry issued a warrant for my arrest."

"Sounds like fun," said Hermione. She took his hand.

_Author's Notes_

_When I first began this, I figured I'd probably finish within about 30k words. Hmm. It was supposed to be an exercise in mimicking Rowling's style, since she's apparently rather better at this author shtick than I am._

_The original plot was a single point of departure AU. Honeymort was lying through his teeth about everything, including that he made the ritual up. The idea was that he's described in canon as being charming and charismatic … but really isn't. What would an intelligent, charismatic Voldemort have done? Try to subvert his enemies' key players, of course. To everyone who thought the first chapter was not all the convincing, this is why; I deliberately brought my B-game because he was lying about most of it and making a fair amount of it up as he was going along._

_Then I got 70k words in and realised that this would put him in a much stronger position than in canon. In canon, he almost won. I'd have the choice of a deus ex machina, the Light winning due to some massive contrivance, or an incredibly depressing ending in which Harry helped him win and conquer Britain and ultimately the world. Ouch. As is, things are bad, but not strictly worse; the heroes still have a chance, if they play their cards well._

_Tonks and Ron were planned from the start; if you reread this, you'll find hints in their first chapters. Also, Tonks was one of two characters OOC for no apparent reason; the other was Malfoy, who is canonically pretty flat. He's basically the Team Rocket of the Potterverse, and so predictable I couldn't bring myself to write him. I likewise can't write Luna for long without being repetitive or going radically OOC, but she's much easier to justify writing out of an AU book five. Cameos were all I could give her for fear of that._

_While this begs for a sequel (it's only part five out of seven, after all: Rowling's style), don't hold your breath. I'm burnt out on writing novels for now, plus I'm back at university. I'll go back to writing again sooner or later, though._

_Thanks, everyone who's read and especially reviewed. Until I began writing, I never appreciated how important that encouragement was, even just simple "good work", although of course longer reviews are much better. Special thanks to Sakhr al-Jinni, who's been encouraging the entire way; and conversely to Bulwersator, who gave me the most brutal reviews. Highlighting areas of weakness is crucial to improvement. I don't think I'd like to have all my reviewers be so critical, but having one or a few was good._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Two Four Twelve_


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